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WAR AND PEACE 


BY 


COUNT LYOF N. TOLSTOI 


FROM THE RUSSIAN BY 
NATHAN HASKELL DOLE 


AUVHORIZED TRANSLATION 


IN FOUR VOLUMES 


VOL. III 


NEW YORK 
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Yih Aha he 
PA VAG AY IEY 
RELY 


) 






» 


_ CopYRicHT, 1889, BY 
T. Y. CROWELL & CO. 


| Copyriaut, 1917, BY a 
NATHAN HASKELL DOLE 
a 
He ie % 





PWAR AND PEACE. 


VOL. III.— PART FIRST. 
CHAPTER L 


TowARD the end of the year 1811, a tremendous armament 
and concentration of forces took place in Western Europe; 
and in 1812, these forces — millions of men, counting those 
who were concerned in the transport and victualling of the 
armies — were moved from west to east toward the borders of 
Russia, where the Russian forces were drawn up just as they 
had been the year before. 

On the 24th of June, the forces of Western Europe crossed 
the Russian frontier, and war began: in other words, an event 
took place opposed to human reason and human nature. 

Millions of men committed against one another an infinite 
number of crimes: deception, treachery, robbery, forgery, 
issues of false assignats, depredations, incendiary fires, mur- 
ders, such as the annals of all the courts in all the world could 
not equal in the aggregate of centuries; and yet which, at 
that period, the perpetrators did not even regard as crimes. 

. What brought about this extraordinary event ? 

What were its causes ? | 

The historians, with naive credulity, assure us that the 
causes of this event are to be found in the affront offered to 
the Duke of Oldenbourg, in the disregard of the “ Continental 
System,” in Napoleon’s ambition, Alexander’s firmness, the 
mistakes of diplomatists, and what not. 

Of course, in that case, to put a stop to the war, it would 
have merely required Metternich, Rumyantsef, or Talleyrand, 
between a levee and a rout, to have made a little effort and 
skilfully composed a state’ paper; or, Napoleon to have 
written to Alexander: Monsieur, mon Frére, je consens a 
rendre le duché au Duc d’ Oldenbourg. 

It is easily understood that the matter presented itself in 
that light to the men of that day. It is easily understood 

VOL. 3. ett ‘ 


2 WAR AND PEACE. 


that Napoleon attributed the cause of the war to England’s 
intrigues (indeed, he said so on the island of St. Helena) ; it 
is easily understood that the members of the British Parlia- 
ment attributed the cause of the war to Napoleon’s ambition ; 
that Prince Oldenbourg considered the war to have been 
caused by the insult which he had received; that the mer- 
chants regarded the “Continental System,” which was ruining 
European trade, as responsible for it; that old veterans and 
generals saw the chief cause for it in the necessity to find 
them something to do; the legitimists of that day, in the 
necessity of upholding les bon principes ; and the diplomatists 
in the fact that they had not been skilful enough to hoodwink 
Napoleon in regard to the Russian alliance with Austria in 
1809, or that it had been awkward to draw up memorandum 
No. 178. 

It is easily understood that these, and an endless number of 
other reasons — the diversity of which is simply proportioned to 
the infinite diversity of standpoints — satisfied the men who 
were living at that time; but for us, Posterity, who are far 
enough removed to contemplate the magnitude of the event 
from a wider perspective, and who seek to fathom its simple and 
terrible meaning, such reasons appear insufficient. To us it is 
incomprehensible that millions of Christian men killed and tor- 
tured each other because Napoleon was ambitious, Alexander 
firm; English policy, astute; and Duke Oldenbourg, affronted. 
It is impossible to comprehend what connection these circum- 
stances have with the fact itself of murder and violence: why, 
in consequence of the affront put upon the duke, thousands 
of men from the other end of Europe should have killed and 
plundered the people of the governments of Smolensk and 
Moscow, and have been killed by them. 

For us, Posterity, who are not historians, and not carried 
away by any far-fetched processes of reasoning, and who can, 
therefore, contemplate the phenomena with unclouded and 
healthy vision, the causes thereof arise before us in all their 
innumerable quantity. The deeper we delve into the investi- 
gation of causes, the more numerous do they open up before 
us; and every separately considered cause, or whole series of 
causes, appears equally efficient in its own nature, and equally 
fallacious by reason of its utter insignificance in comparison 
with the prodigiousness of the events ; and equally fallacious 
also by reason of its inability, without the co-operation of all 
the other causes combined, to produce the events in question. 

Such a cause as the refusal of the Napoleon to draw his 





WAR AND PEACE. 3 


army back within the Vistula, and to restore the duchy of 
Oldenbourg, has as much weight in this consideration _as the 
willingness or unwillingness of a single French corporal to 
take part in the campaign; whereas, if he had refused, and a 
second, and a third, and a thousand corporals and soldiers had 
likewise refused, Napoleon’s army would have been so greatly 
reduced that the war could not have occurred. 

If Napoleon had not been offended by the demand to retire 
his troops beyond the Vistula, and had not issued orders for 
them to give battle, there would have been no war; but if all 
the sergeants had refused to go into action, there also would 
have been no war. And there would also have been no war if 
there had been no English intrigues, and no Prince Oldenbourg ; 
and if Alexander had not felt himsélf aggrieved; and if there 
had been no autocratic power in Russia; and if there had been 
no French Revolution, and no Dictatorship, and Empire follow- 
ing 1t; and nothing of all that led up to the Revolution, and so 
on. Had any one of these causes been missing, war could 
have taken place. Consequently, all of them —  milliards 

- of causes —must have co-operated to bring about what re- 
sulted. 
_ And, as a corollary, there could have been no exclusive final 
_ cause for these events ; and the great event was accomplished 
_ simply because it had to be accomplished. And so millions of 
men, renouncing all their human feelings, and their reason, 
had to march from west to east, and kill their fellows ; exactly 
_ the same as, several centuries before, swarms of men had swept 
_ from east to west, ikewise killing their fellows. 
' The deeds of } Napoleon and Alexander, on whose fiat appar- 
ently depended this or that occurrence, were just as far from 
% being spontaneous and free as the actions of the merest sol- 
_dier taking part in the expedition, either as a conscript or as 
‘recruit. This was inevitably the case, because, in order that 
Napoleon’s or Alexander’s will should be exectited — they be- 
ing apparently the men on whom the event depended — the 
ee berstion of countless factors was requisite, one of which 
failing, the event could not have occurred. It was indispensa- 
“le that millions of men, in whose hands was really all the 
power, soldiers who fought, and men who transported muni- 
tions of war and cannon, should consent to carry out the will 
of these two feeble human units; and they were brought 
to this by an endless number of complicated and varied 
causes. 
Fatalism in history is inevitable, if we would explain its il- 





4 WAR AND PEACE. 


logical phenomena (that is to say, those events the reason for 
which.is beyond our comprehension). The more we strive by 
our reason to explain these phenomena in history, the more 
illogical and incomprehensible to‘us they become. 

Every man lives for himself, and enjoys sufficient freedom 
for the attairiment of his own personal ends, and 1s cons¢ious 
in his whole being that he can instantly perform or refuse to 
perform any action; but as soon as he has done it, this action, 
accomplished in a definite period of time, becomes irrevocable 
and forms an element in history, in which it takes its place 
with a fully pre-ordained and no longer capricious significance. 

Every man has a twofold life: on one side is his personal 
life, which is free in proportion as its interests are abstract ; 
the other is life as an element, as one bee in the swarm; and 
here aman has no chance of disregarding the laws imposed 
upon him. 

Man consciously lives for himself; but, at the same time, he 
serves as an unconscious instrument for the accomplishment 
of historical and social ends. An action once accomplished 
is fixed; and when a man’s activity coincides with others, with 
the millions of actions of other men, it acquires historical sig- 
nificance. The higher a man stands on the social ladder, the 
more men he is connected with, the greater the influence he 
exerts over others, — the more evident is the predestined and 
unavoidable necessity of his every action. 

“'The king’s heart is in the hand of the Lord.” 

The king is the slave of history. 

History, that is to say, the unconscious, universal life of 
humanity, in the aggregate, every moment profits by the life 
of kings for itself, as an instrument for the accomplishment of 
its own ends. 


Napoleon, though never before had it seemed so evident to 
him as now in this year 1809, that it’ depended upon him 
whether he should shed or not shed the blood of his people — 
verser le sang de ses peuples, as Alexander expressed it in his 
last letter to him — was in reality never before so subordinated 
to the inevitable laws which compelled him — even while, as it 
seemed to him, working in accordance with his own free will — 
to accomplish for the world in general, for history, what was 
destined to be accomplished. 

The men of the West moved toward the East so as to kill 
each other. And, by the law of co-ordination, thousands 
of trifling causes made themselves into the guise of final 


‘ WAR AND PEACE. 5 


causes, and coinciding with this event, apparently explained 
this movement and this war: the dissatisfaction with the 
« Continental System ;” and the Duke of Oldenbourg ; and the 
invasion of Prussia, undertaken (as it seemed to Napoleon) 
simply for the purpose of bringing about an armed neutrality ; 
and the French Emperor’s love and habit of war coinciding with 
the disposition of his people; the attraction of grander prepa- 
‘rations, and the outlays for such preparations, and the necessity 
‘for indemnities for meeting these outlays; and the intoxicat- 
‘ing honors paid at Dresden; and the diplomatic negotiations 
which, in the opinion of contemporaries, were conducted with a 
‘sincere desire to preserve peace, but which merely offended the 
‘pride of either side; and millions and millions of other causes, 
‘serving as specious reasons for this event which had taken 
place, and coinciding with it. 

When an apple is ripe and falls, what makes it fall? Is it 
the attraction of gravitation? or isit because its stem withers ? 
or because the sun dries it up? or because it is heavy ? or 
‘because the wind shakes it ? or because the small boy standing 
underneath is hungry for it ? 

There is no such proximate cause. The whole thing is the 
result of all those conditions, in accordance with which every 
vital, organic, complex event occurs. And the botanist who 
argues that the apple fell from the effect of decomposing vege- 
table tissue, or the like, is just as much in the right as the boy 
who, standing below, declares that the apple fell because he 
wanted to eat it, and prayed for it. 

Equally right and equally wrong would be the one who 
Should say that Napoleon went to Moscow because he wanted 
to go, and was. ruined because Alexander wished him to be 
ruined; equally right and equally wrong would be the man who 
Should declare that a mountain, weighing millions of tons and 
undermined, fell in consequence of the last blow of the mat- 
tock dealt by the last laborer. In the events of history, so- 
called great men are merely tags that supply a name to the 
event, and have quite as little connection with the event itself 
as the tag. : 

Every one of their actions, though apparently performed by 
their own free will, is, in its historical significance, out of the 
scope of volition, and is correlated with the whole trend of his: 
tory; and is, consequently, pre-ordained from all eternity. 


6 WAR AND PEACE. 


CHAPTER II. 


On the 10th of June, Napoleon started from Dresden, where 
he had been for three weeks the centre of a court composed of 
princes, dukes, kings, and at least one emperor. 

Before his departure, Napoleon showed his favor to the 
princes, kings, and the emperor, who deserved it: he turned a 
cold shoulder on the kings and princes who had incurred his 
displeasure; he gave the Empress of Austria pearls and dia- 
monds, which he called his own, though they had been stolen 
from other kings, and then tenderly embracing the Hmpress 
Maria Louisa, as the historian terms her, left her heart-broken 
by his absence, which it seemed to her, now that she considered 
herself his consort. although he had another consort left behind 
in Paris, was too hard to be endured. 

Although the diplomats stoutly maintained their belief 
in the possibility of peace, and were working heartily for this 
end; although Napoleon himself wrote a letter to the Emperor 
Alexander, calling him Monsieur, mon Frére, and sincerely assur- 
ing him that he had no desire for war, and that he should 
always love and respect him; — still, he was off for the army, 
and at every station was issuing new rescripts having in view 
- to expedite the movement of the troops from west to east. 

He travelled in a calash drawn by six horses, and accom- 
panied by his pages, aides, and an escort, and took the route 
through Posen, Thorn, Dantzic, and Kénigsberg. The army 
was moving from the west to the east, and relays of fresh horses 
bore him in the same direction. On the 22d of June, he over- 
took the army, and spent the night in the Wilkowisky forest, 
on the estate of a Polish count, where quarters had been made 
ready for him. 

On the following day Napoleon, outstripping the army, 
drove to the Niemen in his calash; and, for the purpose of 
reconnoitring the spot where the army was to cross, he put 
on a Polish uniform, and went down to the banks of the 
river. 

When he saw on the other side the Cossacks, and the wide- 
stretching steppes, in the centre of which was Moscou, la ville 
sainte, the capital of that empire, which reminded him of the 
Scythian one, against which Alexander of Macedon had 
marched, Napoleon, unexpectedly and contrary to all strategi- 
eal as well as diplomatic considerations, gave orders for the 


WAR AND PEACE. 7 


‘advance, and on the next day the troops began to cross the 
Niemen. 

Early on the morning of the twenty-fourth, he emerged 
from his tent, which had been pitched on the steep left bank 
of the river, and looked through his field-glass at the torrents 
of his troops pouring forth from the Wilkowisky forest, and 

‘Streaming across the three bridges thrown over the Niemen. 
® The troops were aware of the presence of the emperor ; 
they searched for him with their eyes, and when they discov. 
ered him on the cliff, standing in front of his tent, and distin- 
guished from his suite by his “figure, in an overcoat and cocked 
hat, they flung their caps in the air, and shouted, “ Vive lV’em- 
pereur /” and then, rank after rank, anever-ceasing stream, they 
‘poured forth and still poured forth from the mighty forest 
that till now had concealed them, and, dividing into three 
currents, crossed over the bridges to the ‘other side. 
* “Something’ll be done this time! Oh, when he takes a 
hand, he makes things hot !— God —save us. — There he is! 
Hurrah for the einperor!” 
_ “So these are the Steppes of Asia? Beastly country all 
‘the same!” 

“Good-by! Beauché, I'll save the best palace in Moscow 
for you. Good-by! Luck to you!” 

“Have you seen him? ‘The emperor? — Hurrah for the 
emperor — ror — ror!” 

“Tf Tam made Governor of India, Gérard, V’ll appoint you 
minister at Cashmir; that’s a settled thing.” 

“ Hurrah for the emperor! Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!” 

“Those rascally Cossacks ! how they run! Hurrah for the 
emperor!” 

“There he is! Do yousee him? Twice I’ve seen him as 
plain as I see you, — the ‘ Little Corporal!’ ” 

_“T saw him give the cross to one of our vets. — Hurrah for 
the emperor!” * 

Such were the remarks and shouts made by men, both 
young and old, of the most widely differing characters and 


_* “On fera du chemin cette fois-ci. Oh! quand u s’en méle lui méme ¢a 
chauffe. Nom—de Dieu! — Le voila! — Vine Vempereur !— Les voila done 
les Steppes del’ Asie! Villain pays, tout de méme !— A revoir, Beauché ; je te 
réserve le plus beau palais de Moscou. A revoir! Bonne chance. — L’as tu 
vu, Vempereur ?— Vive l’empereur —preur!— Si on me fait gouverneur 
aux Indes, Gérard, je te fais ministre de Cachemir ; > cest arrété. — Vive l’em- 
pereur! Vive! Vive! Vive !—Ces gredins de Cosaques, comme tis filent ! 
Vive l’empereur !— Le voila! Le vois tu? je l’ai vu deux fois comme je te 
vois! Le petit caporal ! —Jelaivu donner la croix al’un des vieux. —Vive 
Pemper eur!” 


8 WAR AND PEACE. 


positions in the world. The faces of all these men bore one 
aniversal expression of delight at the beginning of the long 
expected campaign, and of enthusiasm and devotion for the 
man in the gray overcoat, standing on the hill. | 

On the twenty-fifth of June a small thoroughbred Arab 
steed was brought to Napoleon, and he mounted and set off at 
a gallop down to one of the three bridges over the Niemen, 
greeted all the way by enthusiastic acclamations, which he 
evidently endured for the reason that it was impossible to 
prevent the men from expressing by these shouts their love 
for him; but these acclamations, which accompanied him 
wherever he went, fatigued him, and distracted his attention 
from the military task that met him at the moment that he 
reached the army. | 

He rode across the bridge that shook under his horse’s 
hoofs, and, on reaching the farther side, turned abruptly to 
the left, and galloped off in the direction of Kovno, preceded 
by his mounted guards, who, crazy with delight and enthu- 
siasm, cleared the way for him through the troops pressing on 


ahead. On reaching the broad river Vistula, he reined in his - 


horse near a regiment of Polish Uhlans, that was halted on 


the bank. 
“Hurrah!” shouted the Polyaks, no less enthusiastically, 


as they fell out of line, elbowing each other, in their efforts _ 


to get a sight of him. Napoleon contemplated the river; then 
dismounted and sat down on a log that happened to be lying 





on the bank. At a mute si-nal, his telescope was handed — 
him; he rested it on the shoulder of one of his pages, who : 
came forward beaming with delight, and began to reconnoitre | 
the other shore. Then he remained lost in study of a map_ 


spread out over the driftwood. Without’ lifting his head he 
said something, and two of his aides galloped off toward the 
Polish Uhlans. 

“What was it? What did he say?” was heard in the 
Pi of the Uhlans, as one of the aides came hurrying toward 
them. 

The order was that they should find a ford, and cross to the 
other side. 

The Polish colonel, who commanded the Uhlans, a hand- 
some old man, flushing and stumbling in his speech from 


excitement, asked the aide-de-camp whether he might be- 
permitted to swim the river with his men, instead of trying to 


tind the ford. He was evidently as apprehensive of receiving 
a refusal as a schoolboy who asks permission to ride on horse: 


WAR AND PEACE. 9 


back; and what he craved was the chance to swim the river 
under his emperor’s eyes. 

The aide-de-camp replied that in all probability the em- 
peror would not be displeased with this superfluity of 
zeal. 

As soon as the aide-de-camp had said this, the old musta- 
‘ehioed officer, with beaming face and gleaming eyes, waved his 
sword and cried Vivat/ And ordering his Uhlans to follow 
him, he plunged spurs into his horse and dashed down to the 
Tiver. He angrily struck the horse, that shied at the task, and 
forced him into the water, striking out boldly into the swift 
current where it was deepest. The water was cold, and the 
‘Swiftness of the current made the passage difficult. The 
Uhlans clung to one another, in case they were dismounted 
from their horses. Several of the horses were drowned, and 
some of the men; the others endeavored to swim, one clinging 
to his saddle, another to his horse’s mane. Their endeavor 
Was to swim to the farther side, and, although there was 
a ford only half a verst below, they were proud of swim- 
‘Ming and drowning in that river under the eye of the man 
sitting on the log, and not even noticing what they were 
doing ! 

When the aide-de-camp on his return found a favorable 
moment, he allowed himself to call the emperor’s attention to 
the devotion of these Polyaks to his person. The little man 
in the gray great-coat got up, and, calling Berthier, began to 
walk with him back and forth on the river bank, giving him 
orders, and occasionally casting a dissatisfied glance at the 
drowning Uhlans, who distracted his attention. 

It was nothing new in his experience that his presence any- 
where, in the deserts of Africa as well as in the Moscovite 
steppes, was sufficient to stimulate and drive men into the 
most senseless self-sacrifice. He commanded a horse to be 
brought, and rode back to his bivouac. 

Forty Uhlans were drowned in the river, although boats 
were sent to their aid. The majority gave up the task, and 
Teturned to the hither side. The colonel and a few of the 
‘men swam across the river, and with great difficulty crept up 
on the farther shore. But as soon as they were on the land, 


oat | 


had been, but from which he had yanished, and counting 


wvaetde : 


In the afternoon, after making arrangements for procuring 


10 ) WAR AND PEACE. 


with all possible despatch the counterfeit Russian assignats, 
that had been prepared for use in Russia; and after issuing an 
order to shoot a certain Saxon, who, in a letter that had been 
intercepted, gave information in regard to the disposition of 
the French forces ;— Napoleon, in still a third order, caused the 
Polish colonel who had quite needlessly flung himself into the 
river, to be enrolled in the Légion @ Honneur,* of which he him- 
self was the head. 
Quos vult perdere — dementat.T 


CHAPTER III. 


Tur Russian emperor, meantime, had been now for more 
than a month at Vilno, superintending reviews and ma- 
noeuvres. 

Nothing was ready for the war, though all had foreseen that 
it was coming, and though the emperor had left Petersburg’ 
to prepare for it. The vacillation as to what plan, from among 
the many that had been prepared, was to be selected, was still 
more pronounced after the emperor had been for a month at 
headquarters. 

Each of the three divisions of the army had a separate com- 
mander; but there was no nachalnik, or responsible chief, ove 
all the forces; and the emperor did not see fit to assume thi 
position. 

The longer the emperor staid at Vilna, the less ready fo 
the war were they who had grown weary of expecting it. The 
whole purpose of those who surrounded the sovereign seemed 
directed toward making him pass the time agreeably, and for. 
get about the impending conflict. | 

After a series of balls and festivities, given by Polish mag: 
nates, and by the courtiers, and by the emperor himself, « 
Polish adjutant proposed one fine June day, that the im 
perial staff should give a banquet and ball, in his majesty’: 
honor. 

The suggestion was gladly adopted by all. The sovereigy 
granted his sanction. ‘The imperial adjutants collected th« 
necessary funds by a subscription. A lady, who it was though 
would be most acceptable to the emperor, was invited to dc 
the honors. Count Benigsen, a landed proprietor of the Viln« 


* Instituted by Napoleon, May 19, 1802; carried out, Jul 14, 1814, 
t Those whom God wishes to destroy, he first makes mad. 















WAR AND PEACE. 11 


government, tendered the use of his country house for the 
festivity, which was set for the 25th of June; and it was 
decided that the ball and banquet, together with a regatta and 
fireworks, should take place at Zakreto, Count Benigsen’s 
‘eountry place. 

| On that very day on which Napoleon gave orders to cross 
t e Niemen, and the vanguard of his army drove back the 
Cossacks and set foot on Russian soil, Alexander was spend- 
‘ing the evening at Count Benigsen’s villa, at a ball given by 
his staff ! 

' It was a gay, brilliant occasion. Connoisseurs in such mat- 
ters declared that never before had so many pretty women 
been gathered in one place. The Countess Bezukhaya, who, 
with other Russian ladies, had followed the sovereign from 
‘Petersburg to Vilno, was at this ball; by her overwhelning 
'$0-called Russian beauty quite putting into the shade the more 
refined and delicate Polish ladies. She attracted much atten- 


ia 
\ a) 


tion, and the sovereign did her the honor of dancing with 
ner. 

Boris Drubetskoi, having left his wife at Moscow, was also 
present at this ballen garcon, as he expressed it; and, although 
? on his majesty’s staff, was a participant in the festivities 
in virtue of having subscribed a large sum toward the expenses. 
Boris was now a rich man, who had already arrived at high 
honors, and now no longer required patronage; but stood on 
4m equal footing with any of his own age, no matter how lofty 
their rank might be. 

_ He had met Ellen at Vilno, not having seen her for some 
me; but he made no reference to the past. But as Ellen 
was “enjoying the favor” of a very influential individual, 
md Boris had not long been married, it suited their purposes 
0 meet as good old friends. 

“At midnight, they were still dancing. Ellen, finding no 
Yartner to her taste, had herself proposed to Boris to dance 
me mazurka. ‘They were inthe third set. Boris, with cool in- 
‘lifference glancing at Elen’s dazzling, bare shoulders, set off 
y a dark gauze dress, shot with gold, was talking about old 
equaintances; and, at the same time, neither he nor any one 
ise observed that, not for a single second, did he cease to 
yatch the emperor, who was in the same hall. 

The emperor was not dancing: he was standing in the door- 
fay, and addressing, now to one and now to another, those 
tacious words which he, of all men alone, had the art of speak 






















12 WAR AND PEACE. 


Just before the beginning of the mazurka, Boris noticed 
that the General-Adjutant Balashof, who stood on terms of 
special intimacy with the sovereign, approached him as he 
was talking with a Polish lady, and, contrary to court etiquette, 
stood waiting at a short distance from him. While still talk- 
ing, the sovereign looked up inquiringly, and, evidently per- 
ceiving that only weighty considerations would have caused 


Balashof to act thus, he gave the lady a slight bow, and turned 


to the adjutant. 


At Balashof’s very first words, an expression like amazement 





came over the sovereign’s face. He took Balashof’s arm, and, 


together with him, crossed the ballroom, so absorbed that he 
did not notice how the company parted, making a sort of lane, 
three sazhens wide, through which he passed: 

Boris observed Arakcheyef’s agitated face, as the sovereign 
walked out with Balashof. Arakcheyef, looking askance at 
the emperor, and snuffing through his red nose, moved out 
from the throng, as though expecting that the sovereign would 
address him. It was clear to Boris that Arakcheyef hated 
Balashof, and was much dissatisfied that any news of impor- 
tance should be brought to the sovereign otherwise than through 
him. 

But the sovereign, not heeding Arakcheyef, passed out, 
together with Balashof, through the open door, into the br’ 
liantly illuminated garden. Arakcheyef, grasping the hilt. 
his sword, and viciously glancing around, followed the 
twenty steps in the rear. ve 

While Boris continued to perform the proper figures of the 
mazurka, he was continually tortured by the thought of what 
news Balashof had brought, and how he might get hold of it 
before the others. 


In the figure, when he had to choose a lady, he whispered | 


to Ellen that he wanted to get the Countess Potocka, who, he 
believed, had gone out on the balcony. Hastily crossing the 
marquetry floor, he slipped out of the open door into the 
garden; and there, perceiving the sovereign walking along 
the terrace in company with Balashof, he stepped to one side, 
The sovereign and Balashof were directing their steps toward 
the door. Boris, pretending that in spite of all his efforts .2¢ 
had not time to get out of the way, respectfully crowded up 
against the lintel and bowed. 

The sovereign, with the agitated face of a man personally 
offended, uttered these words : — : 

“To make war against Russia without any declaration! 1 


tT 


WAR AND PEACE. 13 


will never consent to peace so long as a single armed foe 
remains in my land!” said he. It seemed to Boris that the 
sovereign took a delight in uttering these words ; he was satis- 
fied with the form in which his thought was couched, but he 
was annoyed that Boris had overheard him. “ Let not a word 
of this be known,” he added, with a frown. Boris understood 
that this was a hint to him, and, closing his eyes, he again 
bowed slightly. The sovereign returned to the ballroom, and 
remained for about half an hour longer. | 

Boris was the first to.learn the news of the French army 
having crossed the Niemen; and, turning his luck to good use, 
made several important personages think that many things 
concealed from the others were known to him, and thereby he 
succeeded in rising still higher in their estimation. 


The news of the French crossing the Niemen, unexpected 
'as it was, was peculiarly unexpected after a long month of 
strained expectancy, and by reason of being announced at a 
ball! The sovereign, at the first instant of receiving the news, 
under the influence of inner revolt and indignation, made use 
of that bold sentiment which gave him such satisfaction, and 
so exactly expressed his feeling, at the time, and afterwards 
became famous. 
On his return to his residence after the ball, the sovereign 
ant, at two o’clock in the morning, for his secretary, Shish- 
in; and dictated a general order to his troops, and a re- 
sript to Field-Marshal Prince Saltuikof, strictly charging 
‘him to use the words about his refusal to make peace so 
long as a_single armed Frenchman remained, on [Russian 
‘soil. On the next day, the following note was written to 
Napoleon : — 


My Broruer: I learned yesterday that, notwithstanding the fidelity 
with which I have adhered to my engagements towards your majesty, 
your troops have crossed the Russian frontier; and [I have this moment 
received from Petersburg a note wherein Count Lauriston, in order to ex- 
plain this aggression, announces that your majesty considered himself at 
war with me from the time that Prince Kurakin demanded his pass- 
ports, The grounds on which the Duke of Bassano refused to grant it 
would never have allowed me to suppose that this step could serve as a 
pretext for the aggression. In fact, my ambassador was never authorized 
to take this step, as he himself explicitly declared; and, as soon as I was 
informed of it, I manifested the extent of my disapproval by ordering him 
to remain at his post. If your majesty is not obstinately bent upon shed- 
ding the blood of our peoples through a misunderstanding of this sort, and 
will consent to withdraw your troops from the Russian territory, I will 
regard what has passed as non-existent, and we may arrive at some 


14 WAR AND PEACE. 


accommodation. In the opposite case, your majesty, I shall be com 
pelled to repulse an attack which I have done nothing to provoke. 
There is still a chance for your majesty to avoid the calamities of a 
new war. I am, etc., 

(Signed) ALEXANDER.* 


CHAPTER IV. 


On the twenty-fifth of June, at two o’clock in the morning, 
the sovereign, having summoned Balashof, and read over to 
him his letter to Napoleon, ordered him to take it and deliver 
it to the French emperor in person. In despatching Balashof, 
the sovereign once more repeated what he had said about not 
making peace so long as a single armed foe remained on Rus- 
sian soil, and he ordered him to quote these exact words to 
Napoleon. The sovereign did not incorporate this threat in 
his letter to Napoleon, because his tact made him feel that 
they were inappropriate at a moment when the last efforts 
were making for reconciliation; but he strenuously com- 
manded Balashof to repeat them to Napoleon verbally. 

Setting off that very same night, Balashof, accompanied by 
a bugler and two Cossacks, by daybreak reached the village of 
Rykonty, on the Russian side of the Niemen, where the French 
vanguard were stationed. He was brought to a halt by the 
French videttes. A non-commissioned officer of hussars, in a 
crimson uniform and shaggy cap, challenged the approaching 
envoy, and ordered him to halt. Balashof did not come in- 


* Monsieur mon Frere: J’ai appris hier que malgré la ioyauté, avec 
laquelle j’ ai maintenu mes engagements envers votre majesté, ses troupes’ 
ont franchi les frontizres de la Russie, et je regois a Vinstant de | 
Petersbourg une note par laquelle le Comte Lauriston, pour cause de — 
cette aggression, annonce que votre majesté sest considerée come 
en état de guerre avee moi des le moment ou le prince Kourakine a Tait 
la demande de ses passeports. Les motifs sur lesquelles le duc de Bas- 
sano fondait son refus de les lui délivrer, vn auraient jamais pu me faire 
supposer que cette démarche servirait jamais de prétexte a Vaggression. 
En effet cet ambassadeur n’y a jamais été autorisé comme il Va déclaré 
lui méme, et aussitot que j’en fus informe, jelui ai fait connaitre combien 
je le désapprouvait en lui donnant Vordre de rester a son poste. Si votre 
majesté n'est pas intentionnée de verser le sang de nos peuples pour un 
malentendu de ce genre et qu'elle consente & rétirer ses troupes du terri- 
toire russe, je regarderai ce qui s’est passé comme non avenu et un ac- 
commodement entre nous sera possible. Dans le cas contraire, votre 
majesté, je me verrar forcé de repousser une attaque que rien n'a 
provoquée de ma part. Il depend encore de votre majesté, d éviter a 
Vhumanité les calamités Vune nouvelle guerre. ; 

‘ Je suis, etc., (Signé) ALEXANDRE. 





WAR AND PEACE. 15 


stantly to a pause, but continued to advance at a footpace 
along the road. 

The subaltern, scowling and muttering some abusive epi- 
thet, blocked Balashof’s way with his horse, and rudely 
shouted to the Russian general, demanding if he were deaf, 
| that he paid no attention to what was said to him. Balashof 
gave his name. The subaltern sent a soldier to the officer in 
- command. 

Paying no further heed to Balashof, the non-commissioned 
officer began to talk with his comrades concerning their pri- 
_ vate affairs, and did not even look at the Russian general. 
| It was an absolutely new experience for Balashof, after 
' being so accustomed to proximity to the very fountain head of 
power and might, after just coming from a three hours’ con- 
versation with his sovereign, and having been universally 
_ treated with respect, to find this, here on Russian soil, hostile 
and peculiarly disrespectful display of brutal insolence. 

The sun was just beginning to break through the clouds ; 
the air was cool and fresh with dew. long the 1oad from 
the village they were driving the cattle to pasture. Over the 
fields, one after another, like bubbles in the water, soared the 
larks with their matin songs. 

Balashof looked about him while waiting for the officer to 
-arrive from the village. The Russian Cossacks and the bugler 
and the French hussars occasionally exchanged glances, but no 
one spoke. ) 

A French colonel of hussars, evidently just out of bed, came 
riding up from the village on a handsome, well fed, gray 
horse, accompanied by two hussars. ‘The officer, the soldiers, 
and their horses had an appearance of content and jauntiness. 

It was the first period of the campaign, while the army was 
still in the very best order, almost fit for a review in time of 
peace, with just a shade of martial smartness in their attire, 
and with their minds a trifle stirred up to that gayety and © 
cheerfulness and spirit of enterprise that always characterize 
the beginning of an expedition. 

The French colonel with difficulty overcame a fit of yawn- 
ing, but he was courteous, and evidently appreciated Balashot’s 
high dignity. He conducted him past his soldiers inside the 
lines, and informed him that his desire to have a personal 
interview with the emperor would in all probability be imme- 
diately granted, since the imperial headquarters, he believed, 
were not far distant. 

They approached the village of Rykonty, riding by pickets, 


16 “WARK AND PEACE. 


sentinels, and soldiery, who saluted their colonel, and gazed 
with curiosity at the Russian uniforms, and finally came to 
the other side of the village. According to the colonel, the 
chief of division, who would receive Balashof and arrange the 
interview, would be found two kilometers distant. 

The sun was now mounting high, and shone bright and 
beautiful over the vivid green of the fields. 

They had just passed a pot-house on a hillside, when they 
saw, coming to meet them up the hill, a ttle band of horse- 
men, led by a tall man in a red cloak and in a plumed hat, 
under which long dark locks rolled down upon his shoulders. 
He rode a coal-black horse, whose heusings ghttered in the 
sun, and his long legs were thrust forward in the fashion affected 
by French riders. This man came at a gallop toward Bala- 
shof, flashing and waving in the bright June sun, with his 
plumes and precious stones and gold-galloons. 

Balashof was within the length of two horses from this 
enthusiastically theatrical-looking individual, who was gallop- 
ing to meet him in all his bravery of bracelets, plumes, neck- 
laces, and gold, when Iulner, the French colonel, respectfully 
said, in a deferential whisper, “ Le roi de Naples.” 

This was indeed Murat, who was still called the King of 
Naples. Although it was wholly incomprehensible in what 
respect he was the king of Naples, still he bore that title ; and’ 
he himself was convinced of its validity, and consequently he 
assumed a more majestic and important aspect than ever 
before. He was so convinced that he was actually King of 
Naples that when, on the day before his departure from that 
city, as he was walking with his wife through the streets of 
Naples, and a few Italians acclaimed him with Viva i 
re — Hurrah for the king — he turned to his consort and said, 
with a melancholy smile, “Oh, poor creatures, they do not 
know that I am going to leave them to-morrow.” 

But though he firmly believed that he was King of Naples, and 
was grieved for the sorrow that was coming upon his faith- 
ful subjects in losing him, still when he was commanded to 
enter the military service again, and especially since his meet- 
ing with Napoleon at Danzig, when his august brother-in- 
law had said to him, “1 made you king to reign in my way, 
not in yours,” * he had cheerfully taken up the business which 
he understood so well, and, like a carriage horse, driven but 
not overworked. feeling himself in harness, he was frisky 
even between the thills, and, decked out in the most gorgeous 


* Je vous ai fait roi pour regner a ma maniere, mais pas a la votre. 


Cs 


WARK AND PEACE. 17 


and costly manner possible, galloped gayly 4nd contentedly 
along the Polish highway, not knowing whither or wherefore. 

As soon as he apjroached the Russian general, he threw his 
head back in royal fashion, and solemnly, with his black curls 
flowing down over his shoulders, looked inquiringly at the 
French colonel. The colonel respectfully explained to his Ma- 
_jesty Balashof’s errand, though he could not pronounce his name. 
_ © De Bal-ma-cheve,” said the king, his self-confidence help- 

ing him to overcome the difficulty that had floored the colonel. 
“ Charmé de faire votre connaissance, général,” he added, with 

a royally gracious gesture. 
_ The moment the king began to speak loud and rapidly all 

the kingly dignity instantly deserted him, and, without his 
suspecting such a thing himself, changed into a tone of good-’ 
natured familiarity. He laid his hand on the withers of Bal- 
ashof’s horse. ; 

“ Well, general, everything looks like war, it seems,” said 
“he, as though he regretted a state of things ere which 
_ he was in no position to judge. 

“Your majesty,” replied Balashof, “the Russian amporon my 
sovereign, has no desire for war, and, as your majesty sees,” 
said Balashof, and thus he went on, with unavoidable affecta, 
tion, repeating the title votre majesté at every opportunity 
during his conversation with this individual, for whom it was 
still a novelty. 

Murat’s face glowed with dull satisfaction while he listened 
to Monsieur de Balachoff. But royauté oblige ; and he felt 
that it was indispensable for him, as king and ally, to converse 
with Alexander’s envoy, on matters of state. He dismounted, 
and, taking Balashof’s arm, and drawing him a few paces aside 
from his suite, waiting respectfully, he began to walk up and 
down with him, trying to speak with all authority. He in- 
formed him that the Emperor Napoleon was offended by the 
demand made upon him to withdraw his forces from Prussia: 
especially as this demand was made publicly, and, therefore, 

was an insult to the dignity of France. 
 SBalashof said that there was nothing insulting in this 
demand, “because ”” — 

Murat interrupted him, — 

-“Sothen you do not consider the Emperor Alexander as the 
instigator of the war?” he asked, suddenly, with a Shupiy 
good-natured simile. 

Balashof explained why he really supposed that Nancleon 
was the aggressor. 

VOL. 3. — 2. 


18 WAR AND PEACE. 


“Ah, my dear general,” again exclaimed Murat, interrupt: 
ing him, “I desire, with all my heart, that the emperors 
should come to a mutual understanding, and that the war, 
begun in spite of me, should be brought to a termination as soon 
as possible, ee SHI he, inthe tone of servants who wish to remain 
good friends, though their masters may quarrel. And he pro- 
ceeded to make inquiries about the grand duke, and the state 
of his health, and recalled the jolly good times which they had 
enjoyed together at Naples. Then, suddenly, as though re- 
membering “his kingly dignity, Murat drew himself up haugh- 
tily, struck the same attitude in which he had stood during his 
coronation, and, waving his right hand, said, — 

“T will not detain you longer, general; I wish you all suc- 
cess in your mission;” and then, with his embroidered red 
mantle, and his plumes gayly waving, and his precious trin- 
kets glittering in the sun, he rejoined his suite, which had 
been respectfully waiting for him. 

Balashof went on his way, expecting, from what Murat said, 
to be very speedily presented to Napoleon himself. But, in- 
stead of any such speedy meeting with Napoleon, the sentinels 
of Davoust’s infantry corps detained him again at the next 
village —just as he had been halted at the outposts — until an 
aide of the corps commander, who was sent for, conducted him 
to Marshal Davoust, in the village. 


CHAPTER V. 


Davoust was the Emperor Napoleon’s Arakcheyef — Arak- 
cheyef except in cowardice: just the same, punctilhous and 
cruel; and knowing no other way of manifesting his devotion 
except by cruelty. : 

In the mechanism of imperial organism, such men are neces- 
sary, just as wolves are necessary in the organism of nature; 
and they always exist and manifest themselves and maintain 
themselves, however incompatible their presence and proxim- 
ity to the chief power may seem. Only by this indispensable- 
ness can it be explained how Arakcheyef—a cruel man, who 
personally pulled the mustache of a grenadier, and who by 
reason of weakness of nerves could not endure any danger, and 





* Eh, mon cher général, je désire de towt mon cour, que les empereurs s ’ar- 
rangent entre eux, et que la guerre commencée malgre moi se termine le 
plus tot possible. 


WAR AND PEACE. 19 


was ill-bred and ungentlemanly — could maintain power and 
influence with a character so chivalrous, noble, and affectionate 
as Alexander’s. 

In the barn attached to a peasant’s cottage, Balashof found 

Marshal Davoust, sitting on a keg, and busily engaged in 
_clerk’s business (he was verifying accounts). An aide stood 
_near him. He might have found better accommodations ; but 
' Marshal Davoust was one of those men who purposely make 
the conditions of life as disagreeable as possible for themselves, 
_ <n order to have an excuse for being themselves disagreeable. 
Consequently, they are always hurried and obstinate. “How 
can I think of the happy side of life when, as you see, I am 
sitting on a keg, in a dirty barn, and working ?” the expres- 
sion of his face seemed to say. ‘The chief satisfaction and 
_ requirement of such men are that they should be brought into 
contact with men of another stamp, and to make before them an 
- enormous display of disagreeable and obstinate activity. This 
gratification was granted Davoust when Balashof was ushered 

‘into his presence. He buried himself more deeply than ever 
in his work when the Russian general appeared. He glanced 

_ over his spectacles at Balashof’s face, animated by the spirit 
of the beautiful morning and the meeting with Murat, but he 

did not get up or even stir. He put on a still more portentous 
frown, and smiled sardonically. 

Noticing the impression produced on Balashof by this recep- 
tion, Davoust raised his head, and chillingly demanded what 
_he wanted. 

Supposing that this insulting reception was given him 

because Davoust did not know that he was the Emperor Alex- 

‘ander’s general-adjutant, and, what was more, his envoy to 
Napoleon, Balashof hastened to inform him of his name and 

“mission. Contrary to his expectation, Davoust, after listening 
to Balashof’s communication, became still more gruff and rude. 

“Where is your packet?” he demanded. ‘Give it to me; 
I will send it to the emperor.” 

Balashof replied that he was ordered to give the package 

personally to the emperor. 

_ “Your emperor’s orders are carried out in your army ; but 
here,” said Davoust, ‘you must do as you are told.” And, as 
though to make the Russian general feel still more keenly how 
completely he was at the mercy of brute force, Davoust sent 
an aide for the officer of the day. 

_ Balashof took out the packet containing the sovereign’s note, 
and laid it on the table —a table improvised of a door, with 


20 WAR AND PEACE. 


the torn hinges still protruding, and laid on a couple of barrels. 
Davoust took the packet and read the superscription. | 

“You have a perfect right to treat me with respect, or not 
to treat me with respect,” said Balashof. “ But permit me to 
remark that I have the honor of being one of his Majesty’s 
aides ” — 

Davoust gazed at him without saying a word; but a trace 
of annoyance and confusion, betrayed in Balashof’s face, evi- 
dently afforded him gratification. 

“All due respect will be showed you,” said he; and, pla- 
cing the envelope in his pocket, he left the barn. 

A moment later, the marshal’s aide, Monsieur de Castrier, 
made his appearance, and conducted Balashof to the lodgings 
made ready for him; Balashof dined that same day with the 
marshal, in the barn, the boards on the barrels serving as the 
table; early in the morning of the following day, Davoust came, 
and, taking Balashof to one side, told him confidentially that 
he was requested to stay where he was ; though, if the baggage 
.train received orders to advance, he was to advance with it, 
and not to communicate with any one except with Monsieur 
de Castrier. 

At the end of four days of solitude, of tedium, of bitter con- 
sciousness of his helplessness and insignificance all the more 
palpable through contrast with the atmosphere of autocracy to 
which he had so recently been accustomed, after a number of 
transfers with the marshal’s baggage and the French forces 
which occupied the whole region, Balashof was brought back 
to Vilno now in possession of the French: he re-entered the 
town by the same gate by which he had left it four days 
before. 

On the following day the Imperial Chamberlain, Monsieur 
de Turenne, came to Balashof and announced that the Emperor 
Napoleon would be pleased to grant him an audience. 

Four days previously sentinels from the Preobrazhensky 
regiment had been standing in front of the mansion into which 
Balashof was conducted; now two French grenadiers in blue 
uniforms opened over the chest, and in shaggy caps, an escort 
of hussars and Uhlans and a brilliant suite of aides, pages, and 
generals, were standing at the steps near his saddle -horse and 
his Mameluke Rustan, waiting for him to make his appear- 
ance. ! 

Napoleon received Balashof in the same house in Vilno from 
which Alexander had despatched him. 


WAR AND PEACE. 21 


CHAPTER VI. 


Trove Balashof was accustomed to court magnificence, the 
sumptuousness and display of Napoleon’s court surprised him. 
Count Turenne conducted him into the great drawing-room, 
_where a throng of generals, chamberlains, and Polish magnates, 
many of whom Balashof had seen at court during the sojourn 
of the Russian emperor, were in waiting. Duroc told the 
Russian general, that the Emperor Napoleon would receive 
| him before going out to ride. 

At the end of some moments of expectation the chamber- 

Jain on duty came into the great drawing-room, and, bowing 
“courteously, invited Balashof to follow him. 
Balashof passed into a small drawing-room which opened 
into the cabinet, — into the very same cabinet where the Rus- 
sian Emperor had given him his directions. Balashof stood a 
couple of minutes waiting. Then hasty steps were heard in 
the other room. The folding doors were hastily flung open. 
All was silent, and then firm, resolute steps were heard coming 
from the cabinet: it was Napoleon. He had only just completed 
his toilet for riding on horseback. He was in a blue uni- 
form coat thrown open over a white waistcoat that covered the 
rotundity of his abdomen ; he wore white chamois-skin small- 
clothes that fitted tightly over the stout thighs of his short 
legs, and Hessian boots. His short hair had evidently only 
just been brushed, but one lock of hair hung down over the 
centre of his broad brow. His white, puffy neck was in sharp 
contrast with the dark collar of his uniform coat; he exhaled 
a strong odor of eau-de-Cologne. His plump and youthful- 
looking face with its prominent chin wore an expression of 
benevolence entirely compatible with his imperial majesty. 

He came in, giving little quick jerks as he walked along, 
and holding his head rather high. His whole figure, thick- 
set and short, with his broad, stout shoulders and with.the 
abdomen and breast involuntarily thrust forward, had that 
portly, stately carriage which men of forty who have lived in 
comfort are apt to have. Moreover it was evident that on 
this particular day he was in the most enviable frame of mind. 
He inclined his head in response to Balashof’s low and re- 
spectful bow, and, approaching him, began immediately to 
speak like a man who values every moment of his time, 
and does not condescend to make set speeches, but is con- 


29 WAR AND PEACE. 
vineed in his own mind that he always speaks well and to 
the point. | 

«How are you, general?” said he. “I have received the 
Emperor Alexander’s letter which you brought, and [am very 
glad to see you.” 

He scrutinized Balashof’s face with his large eyes, and then 
immediately looked past him. It was evident that Balashof’s 
personality did not interest him in the least. It was evident 
that only what came into his own mind had any interest for 
him. Everything outside of him had no consequence, because, 
as it seemed to him, everything in the world depended on his 
will alone. 

“T have not desired war, and I do not desire ‘it now,” said 
he. “But I have been driven to it. Even now” —he laid a 
strong stress on the word —“T am ready to accept any expla- 
nation which you can offer.” 

And he began clearly and explicitly to state the erounds for 


his dissatisfaction with the Russian Government. Judging by 


the calm, moderate, and even friendly tone in which the French 
Emperor spoke, Balashof was firmly convinced that he was 
anxious for peace and intended to enter into negotiations. 


« Sire, V Empereur, mon maitre” — Balashof began his long 


prepared speech when Napoleon, having finished what he had 


to say, looked inquiringly at the Russian envoy : but the look | 
in the Emperor’s eyes, fastened upon him, confused him. — 


“You are confused, —regain your’ self-possession,” Napoleon 
seemed to say as he glanced with a hardly perceptible smile at 


Balashof’s uniform and sword. Balashof recovered his self- 


possession and began to speak. He declared that the Em- 
peror Alexander did not consider Kurakin’s demand for his 
passport a sufficient ground for war, that Kurakin had pro- 
ceeded on his own responsibility and without the sovereign’s 


sanction, that the Emperor Alexander did not wish for war — 


and that he had no understanding with England. 

“None as yet,” suggested Napoleon, and, as though fearing 
to commit himself, he scowled and slightly inclined his head, 
giving Balashof to understand that he might go on. 


Having said_all that he had been empowered to say, Balashof | 


declared that the Emperor Alexander desired peace, but that 
he would not enter into negotiations except on condition 
that — Here Balashof stopped short. He recollected the 
words which the Emperor Alexander had not incorporated in 
the létter, but which he had strenuously insisted should be in- 
serted in the rescript to Saltuikof, and which he had com- 





WAR AND PEACE. 22 


~manded Balashof to repeat to Napoleon. Balashof remembered 
these words, “so long as an armed foe remains on Russian 


soil,” but some strange and complicated feeling restrained him. 


' He found it impossible to repeat these words, although his 


desire to do so was great. He hesitated and said, “On condi- 


| tion that the French troops retire beyond the Niemen.” 





* 


Napoleon remarked Balashof’s confusion as he said those 


last words. His face twitched; the calf of his left leg began to 


‘tremble nervously. Not stirring from the place where he was 
“standing, he began to speak in a higher key, and more rapidly 
‘than before. All the time that he was speaking, Balashof, not 


| once shifting his eyes, involuntarily watched the twitching of 


' Napoleon’s left calf, which increased in violence in proportion 








as he raised his voice. 


“‘T desire peace no less than the Emperor Alexander,” said 


‘he. “Have I not for eighteen months done everything to 
‘preserve it? I have been waiting eighteen months for an 


explanation. But what is demanded of me before negotiations 


— 


'@an begin?” he asked, with a frown, and emphasizing his 
question with an energetic gesture of his little, white, plump 


hand. 
“The withdrawal of the troops beyond the Niemen, sire,” 


replied Balashof. 


“ Beyond the Niemen,” repeated Napoleon. “So that is all 
that is wanted now, is it, —‘ beyond the Niemen,’ merely 
beyond the Niemen,” insisted Napoleon, looking straight at 


Balashof. 


Balashof respectfully inclined his head. 

_“ Four months ago the demand was to évacuate Pomerania, 
but now all that is required is to retire beyond the Niemen.” 
— Napoleon abruptly turned away and began to pace up and 
down the room. “You say that it is demanded of me to 
retire beyond the Niemen before there can be any attempt at 
hegotiations, but in exactly the same way two months ago all 
that was required of me was to retire beyond the Oder and the 
Vistula, and yet you can still think of negotiating ?” 

He walked in silence from one corner of the room to the 

Other, and then stopped in front of Balashof. Balashof 
noticed that his left leg trembled even faster than before, and 


his face seemed petrified in its sternness of expression. This 


trembling Napoleon himself was aware of. He afterwards 
said, “ La vibration de mon mollet gauche est un grand signe 
chez moi.” 

“Any such propositions as to abandon the Oder or the 


94 WAR AND PEACE. 


Vistula may be made to the Prince of Baden, but not to me,” 
Napoleon almost screamed, the words seeming to take him by 
surprise. “If you were to give me Petersburg and Moscow, 
I would not accept such conditions. You declare that I began 
this war. But who went to his army first? The Emperor 
Alexander, and not I. And you propose negotiations when I 
have spent millions, when you have made an alliance with 
England, and when your position is critical — you propose 
negotiations with me! But what was the object of your alli- 
ance with England ? What has she given you?” he asked, 
hurriedly, evidently now making no effort to show the advan- 
tages of concluding peace, and deciding upon the possibilities 
of it, but simply to prove his own probity and power, and 
Alexander’s lack of probity and blundering statecraft. 

At first he was evidently anxious to show what an advanta- 
geous position he held, and to prove that, nevertheless, he 
would be willing to have negotiations opened again. But he 
was now fairly launched in his declaration, and the longer 
he spoke the less able he was to control the current of his dis- 
course. The whole aim of his words now seemed to exalt 
himself and to humiliate Alexander, which was precisely 
what he least of all wished to do at the beginning of the inter- 
view. | 

“Tt is said you have concluded peace with the Turks ?” 

Balashof bent his head affirmatively. “Peace has been 
dec —” he began; but Napoleon gave him no chance to 
speak. It was plain that he wished to have the floor to hin- 
self, and he went on talking with that eloquence and excess 
of irritability to which men who have been spoiled-are so 
prone. 

“Yes, I know that you have concluded peace with the 
Turks, and without securing Moldavia and Valakhia. But be 
would have given your sovereign these provinces Just as I 
eave him Finland! Yes,” he went on to say, “I promised the 
Emperor Alexander the provinces of Moldavia and Valakhia, 
and I would have given them to him; but now he shall not 
have those beautiful provinces. He might, however, have 
united them to his empire, and, in his reign alone, he would 
have made Russia spread from the Gulf of Bothnia to the 
mouths of the Danube. Catherine the Great could not have 
done more,” exclaimed Napoleon, growing more and more 
excited, as he strode up and down the room, and saying to 
Balashof almost the same words which he had said to Alex- 
ander himself at Tilsit. “All that my friendship would have 





WAR AND PEACE. pti) 


brought to him! Oh, what a glorious reign! what a glorious 
reign!” he repeated several times. He paused and took out 
a gold snuff-box, and greedily sniffed at it. “What a glorious 
reign the Emperor Alexander’s might have been!” * 

He gave Balashof a compassionate look, but as soon as the 
general started to make some remark, Napoleon hastened to 


interrupt him again. 


‘What could he have wished or sought for that he would 


‘not have secured by being my friend?” Napoleon asked, 


shrugging his shoulders in perplexity. “No, he preferred to 
surround himself with my enemies, and what enemies ?” pur- 


‘sued Napoleon. “He has attached to himself Steins, Arm- 


feldts, Benigsens, Winzengerodes! Stein, a traitor banished 


trom his own country; Armfeldt, a scoundrel and intriguer ; 


Winzengerode, a fugitive French subject ; Benigsen, a rather 


better soldier than the others, but still incapable, who had no 


‘idea how to act in 1807, and who ought to arouse horrible 
recollections in the emperor’s mind. We will grant that he 


might make some use of them, if they had any capacity,” pur- 


sued Napoleon, scarcely able in his speech to keep up with the 
arguments that kept rising in his mind in support of his right 
or might — the two things being one in his view. “But there 
is nothing of the sort: they are of no use either for war or 
peace! Barclay, they say, is better than all the rest of them; 


but I should not say so, judging by his first movements. . But 


what are they doing? What are all these courtiers doing ? 
Pfuhl proposes ; Armfeldt argues; Benigsen considers; and 
Barclay, when called upon to act, knows not what plan of 
action to decide upon, and time slips away, and nothing is 


accomplished. Bagration alone is a soldier. He is stupid, 
but he has experience, a quick eye, and decision. And what 


sort of a part is your young sovereign playing in this hopeless 
throng? They are compromising him, and making him re- 
‘Sponsible for everything that takes place. A sovereign has no 
Tight to be with his army unless he is a general,” said he, 
evidently intending these words to be taken as a direct. chal- 
lenge to the Russian emperor. Napoleon was well aware 
how desirous the Emperor Alexander was to be a military com- 
mander. 

“The campaign has not been begun a week, and you could 
not defend Vilno. You are cut in two, and driven out of the 
Polish provinces. Your army is already grumbling.” 


: 


He 
* Tout cela il Vaurait du a mon amitié. Ah! quel beau regne! quel beaw 
regne « — Quel beau regne aurait pu celui de Vempereur Alexandre. 


q 





26 WAR AND PEACE. 


“On the contrary, your majesty,” said Balashof, scarcely 
remembering what had been said to him, and finding it hard 
to follow this pyrotechnic of words, “ the troops are full of 
zeal”? — 

“I know all about it,” said Napoleon, interrupting him. “I 
know the whole story; and I know the contingent of your | 
battalions as well as that of my own. You have not two 
hundred thousand men; and I have three times as many. 
I give you my word of honor,” said Napoleon, who forgot 
that his word of honor might have very little weight, —“I 
give you my word of honor that I have five hundred and 
thirty thousand men on this side of the Vistula. The Turks 
will be no help to you: they are never of any use; and 
they have proved this by making peace with you. The 
Swedes —it is their fate to be ruled by madmen. ‘Their 
king was crazy: they got rid of him, and chose another — 
Bernadotte, who instantly lost his wits: because it is sure 
proof of madness that a Swede should enter into alliance with 
Russia.” 

Napoleon uttered this with a vicious sneer, and again car- 
ried the snuff-box to his nose. | 

To each of Napoleon’s propositions, Balashof was ready and. 
willing to give an answer; he kept making the gestures of a 
man who has somewhat to say; but Napoleon gave him no 
chance to speak. In refutation of the Swedes being mad, 
Balashof was anxious to state that Sweden was isolated if 
Russia were against her; but Napoleon interrupted him, 
shouting at the top of his voice, so as to drown his words. 
Napoleon had worked himself up into that state of irritation 
in which a man must’ talk, and talk, and talk, if for nothing 
else but to convince himself that he is in the right of a 
question. 

Balashof began to grow uncomfortable: as an envoy he 
began to fear that he was compromising his dignity; and he 
felt it incumbent upon him to reply; but, as a man, he had a 
moral shrinking before the assault of such unreasonable fury 
as had evidently come upon Napoleon. He was aware that 
anything Napoleon might say in such circumstances had no 
special significance; that he himself, when he came to think 
it over, would be ashamed. Balashof stood with eyes cast 
down, looking at Napoleon’s restless stout legs, and tried to 
avoid meeting his eyes. ; 

“ But what do I care for your allies ?”? demanded Napoleon. 
“T too have allies —these Poles, eighty thousand of them; 





| WAR AND PEACE. 97 


they fight like lions, and there will be two hundred thousand of 
them.” 
,|_ And, probably, still more excited by the fact that in making 
this statement he was uttering a palpable falsehood, and by 
_ Balashof standing there, in silent submission to his fate,’ he 
‘abruptly turned back, came close to Balashof, and, making 
Tapid and energetic gestures with his white hands, he almost 
“Screamed, — 
) “Understand! If you incite Prussia against me, I assure 
you, I will wipe her off from the map of Europe,” said he, his 
face pale and distorted with tage, and energetically striking 
{One white hand against the other.“ Yes, and I will drive you 
‘beyond the Dwina and the Dnieper; and I will erect against 
‘you that barrier which Europe was stupid and blind enough 
to permit to be overthrown. That is what will become of you, 
that is what you will have lost in alienating me,” said he, and 
once more began to pace the room in Silence, a number of 
‘times jerking his stout shoulders. 
_ He replaced his snuff-box in his waistcoat pocket, took it out 
again, carried it to his nose several times, and halted directly 
in front of Balashof. He stood thus without speaking, and 
gazed directly into Balashof’s eyes, with a satirical expression ; 
then he said, in a low tone, — 

“ Ht cependant quel beau regne aurait pu avoir votre maitre 
— what a glorious reign your master might have had!” 

Balashof, feeling it absolutely indispensable to make some 
answer, declared that affairs did not present themselves to the 
eyes of the Russians in such a gloomy aspect. Napoleon said 
othing, but continued to look at him with the same satirical 
2xpression, and apparently had not heard what he said. Bal- 
ashof declared that in Russia the ‘highest hopes were enter- 
iained of the issue of the war. Napoleon tossed his head con- 
lescendingly, as much as to say, “I know it is your duty to 
say so, but you do not believe it; my arguments have con- 
vinced you.” 

When Balashof had finished what he had to say, Napoleon 
»mee more raised his snuff-box, took a sniff. from it, and then 
stamped twice on the floor, as a signal. The door was fiung 
ppen: a chamberlain, respectfully approaching, handed the 
*mperor his hat and gloves; another brought him his handker- 
thief. Napoleon, not even looking at them, addressed Bala- 
shof, — 

_ “Assure the Emperor Alexander, in my name,” said he, as 
je took his hat, “that I esteem him as warmly as before: I 





98 WAR AND PEACE. 


know him thoroughly, and I highly appreciate his lofty quali. 
ties. Je ne vous retiens plus, général ; vous recevréen Ma lettre a 
Vempereur.” | 

And Napoleon swiftly disappeared through the door. All 
in the reception-room hurried forward and down the stairs. 


CHAPTER VII. 


Arver all that Napoleon had said to him, after those ex- 
plosions of wrath, and after those last words spoken so coldly, 
“ Je ne vous retiens plus, général ; vous recevrexz Ma lettre,’ Bal- 
ashof was convinced that Napoleon would not only have no 
further desire to see him, but would rather avoid seeing him, 
a humiliated envoy, and, what was more, a witness of his un- 
dignified heat. But, to his amazement, he received through 
Duroc an invitation to dine that day with the emperor. 

The guests were Bessieres, Caulaincourt, and Berthier. 

Napoleon met Balashof with a cheerful face and affably. There 
was not the slightest sign of awkwardness or self-reproach for 
his outburst of the morning, but, on the contrary, he tried to 
put Balashof at his ease. It was plain to see that Napoleon 
was perfectly persuaded that there was no possibility of his 
making any mistakes and that in his understanding of things 
all that he did was well, not because it was brought into com- 
parison with the standards of right and wrong, but simply 
because he did it. 

The emperor was in excellent spirits after his ride through 
Vilno, where he was received and followed by the acclamations 
of a throng of people. In all the windows along the streets 
where he passed were displayed tapestries, flags, and decora- 
tions ornamented with his monogram, while Polish ladies 
saluted him and waved their handkerchiefs. | 

‘At dinner he had Balashof seated next himself and treated 
him not only cordially butas though he considered him one of his 
own courtiers, one of those who sympathized in his plan and 
rejoiced in his success. Among other topics of conversation 
he brought up Moscow and began to ask Balashof about the 
Russian capital, not merely as an inquisitive traveller asks 
about a new place which he has in mind to visit, but as though 
he were convinced that Balashof, as a Russian, must be flat- 
tered by his curiosity. 

“How many inhabitants are there in Moscow ? How many 


é 





WAR AND PEACE. o9 


houses? Is it a fact that Moscow is called Moscou la Sainte? 
How many churches are there in Moscow ?” he asked 

And when told that there were upwards of two hundred he 
asked, “ What is the good of such a host of churches ?” 

“The Russians are very religious,” replied Balashof. 

“ Nevertheless a great number of monasteries and churches 


_ is always a sign that a people are backward,” said Napoleon, 
_ glancing at Caulaincourt for confirmation in this opinion. 


Balashof respectfully begged leave to differ from the French 
emperor’s opinion. 

“Every country has its own customs,” said he. 

“But nowhere else in Europe is there anything like it,” 


_ remarked Napoleon. 


“T beg your majesty’s pardon,” replied Balashof. “There 
is Spain as well as Russia where monasteries and churches 
abound.” 

This reply of Balashof’s, which had a subtile hint at the 


Tecent defeat of the French in Spain, was considered very 


clever when Balashof repeated it at the Emperor Alexander's 
court; but it was not appreciated at Napoleon’s table, and 
passed unnoticed. . 

The indifferent and perplexed faces of the marshals plainly 


betrayed the fact that they did not understand where the 


point of the remark came in, or realize Balashof’s insinuation. 
“If that had been witty, then we should have understood it; 
consequently it could not have been witty,” the marshals’ 
faces seemed to say. So little was this remark appreciated 
that even Napoleon did not notice it, and naively asked Bala- 
shof the names of the cities through which the direct road to 


_ Moscow led. 


Balashof, who throughout the dinner was on the alert, replied, 


“Just as all roads lead to Rome, so all roads lead to Moscow ;” 
that there were many roads, and that among these different 


routes was the one that passed through Pultava, which Charles 


XII. had chosen. Thus replied Balashof, involuntarily flush- 
ing with delight at the cleverness of this answer. Balashof 


. 
i 


had hardly pronounced the word “Pultava” when Caulain- 
court began to complain of the difficulties of the route from 
Petersburg to Moscow and to recall his Petersburg experiences. 

After dinner they went into Napoleon’s cabinet to drink 


: their coffee; four days before it had been the Emperor Alex- 
_ander’s cabinet; Napoleon sat down,'stirring his coffee in a 
Sévres cup and pointed Balashof to a chair near him. 


There is a familiar state of mind that comes over a man 


50 WAR AND PEACE. 


after a dinner, and, acting with greater force than all the dic- 
tates of mere reason, compels him to be satisfied with himself 
and to consider all men his friends. Napoleon was now in 
this comfortable mental condition. It seemed to him that he 
was surrounded by men who adored him. He was persuaded 
that even Balashof, after having eaten dinner with him, was his 
friend and worshipper. Napoleon addressed him with a 
pleasant and slightly satirical smile, — 

«This is the very room, I am informed, which the Emperor 
Alexander used. Strange, isn’t it, general?” he asked, evi- 
dently not having any idea that such a remark could fail to 
be agreeable te his guest, as it insinuated that he, Napoleon, 
was superior to Alexander. 

Balashof could have nothing to reply to this, and. merely 
inclined his head. : 

“Yes, in this room, four days ago, Winzengerode and Stein 
were holding council,” pursued Napoleon with the same self- 
confident, satirical smile. ‘“ What I cannot understand is that 
the Emperor Alexander has taken to himself all my personal 
enemies. I do not—understand it. Has it never occurred 
to him that-I might do the same thing?” And this question 
directed to Balashof evidently aroused his recollection of the 
cause of his morning’s fury, which was still fresh in his mind. 

“ And have him know that I will do so,” said Napoleon, get- 
ting up and pushing away his cup. “ I will drive all his 
kindred out of Germany,— those of Wirtemberg, Weimar, 
Baden — yes, I will drive them all out. Let him be getting 
ready for them an asylum in Russia!” 

Balashof bowed, and signified that he was anxious to with- 
draw, and that he listened simply because he could not help 
listening to what Napoleon said. But Napoleon paid no heed 
to this motion; he addressed Balashof not as his enemy’s en- 
voy, but as a man who was for the time being entirely 
devoted to him and must needs rejoice in the humiliation of 
his former master. 

« And why has the Emperor Alexander assumed the command 
of his forces? What is the reason of it? War is my trade, 
and his is to rule and not to command armies. Why has he 
taken upon him such responsibilities ?” : ' 

Napoleon again took his snuff-box, silently strode several 
times from one end of the room to the other, and then suddenly 
and unexpectedly went straight up to Balashof and with a slight 
smile he unhesitatingly, swiftly, simply, —as though he were 
doing something not only important, but rather even agreeable 





WAR AND PEACE. aud 


to Balashof, — put his hand into his face and, taking hold of his 
ear, gave it a little pull, the smile being on his lips alone. 
To have one’s ear pulled by the Emperor was considered the 
greatest honor and favor at the French court. 

“ Eh bien, vous ne dites rien, admirateur et courtisan de 
_ PEmpereur Alexandre?” asked Napoleon, as though it were an 
_ absurdity in his presence to be an admirer and courtier of any 
' one besides himself. “ Are the horses ready for the general ? ” 
‘he added, slightly bending his head in answer to Balashot’s 
bow. “Give him mine, he has far to go.” 
_ The letter which was intrusted to Balashof was the last 
_ that Napoleon ever wrote to Alexander. All the particulars of 
_ the interview were communicated to the Russian emperor, 
- and the war began. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Arter his interview with Pierre, Prince Andrei went to 
Petersburg on business, as he told his relatives, but in reality 
to find Prince Anatol Kuragin there, since he considered it 
his bounden duty to fight him. But Kuragin, whom he in- 
quired after as soon as he reached Petersburg, was no longer 
there. Pierre had sent word to his brother-in-law that Prince 
Andrei was in search of him. Anatol Kuragin had immedi- 
ately secured an appointment from the minister of war, and 
gone to the Moldavian army. | 

During this visit to Petersburg Prince Andrei met Kutuzof, 
his former general, who was always well disposed to him, and 
Kutuzof proposed that he should go with him to the Molda- 
vian army, of which the old general had been appointed com- 
mander-in-chief. Prince Andrei, having thereupon. received 
his appointment as one of the commander’s staff, started for 
_ Turkey. 

Prince Andrei felt that it would not be becoming to write 
Kuragin and challenge him. Having no ‘new pretext for a 
duel, he felt that a challenge from him would compromise the 
- Countess Rostova, and therefore he sought for a personal 
interview with Kuragin, when he hoped he should be able to 
invent some new pretext for the duel. But in Turkey also he 
failed of finding Kuragin, who had returned to Russia as soon 
as he learned of Prince Andrei’s arrival. 

In a new country, and under new conditions, life began to 
seem easier to Prince Andrei, After the faithlessness of his 


32 WAR AND PEACE. 


betrothed, which had affected him all the more seriously from 
his very endeavor to conceal from all the grief that it had 
really caused him, the conditions of life in which he had 
found so much happiness had grown painful to him, and still 
more painful the very freedom and independence which he 
had in times gone by prized so highly. He not only ceased to 
harbor those thoughts which had for the first time occurred to 
him as he looked at the heavens on the field of Austerlitz, 
which he so loved to develop with Pierre, and which were the 
consolations of his solitude at Bogucharovo, and afterwards in 
Switzerland and Rome, but he even feared to bring up the 
recollection of these thoughts, which opened up such infinite 
and bright horizons. He now concerned himself solely with 
the narrowest and most practical interests, entirely discon- 
nected with the past, and busied himself with these with all 
the greater avidity because the things that were past were 
kept from, his remembrance. That infinite, ever-retreating 
vault of the heavens which at that former time had arched 
above him had, as it were, suddenly changed into one low and 
finite oppression, where all was clear, but there was nothing 
eternal and mysterious. 

Of all the activities that offered themselves to his choice, 
the military service was the simplest and best known to him. 
Accepting the duties of general inspector on Kutuzof’s staff, 
he entered into his work so doggedly and perseveringly that 
Kutuzof was amazed at his zeal and punctuality. Not finding 
Kuragin in Turkey, he did not think it worth his while to fol- 
low him back to Russia; but still he was well aware that, no 
matter how long a time should elapse, it would be impossible 
for him, in spite of all the scorn which he felt for him, in 
spite of all the arguments which he used in his own mind to 
prove that he ought not to stoop to any encounter with him, 
he was aware, I say, that if ever he met him he would be 
obliged to challenge him, just as a starving man throws him- 
self on food. And this consciousness that the insult had not 
yet been avenged, that his anger had not been vented, but still 
lay on his heart, poisoned that artificial serenity which Prince 
Andrei by his apparently indefatigable and somewhat ambi- 
tious and ostentatious activity procured for himself in Turkey. 

When, in 1812, the news of the war with Napoleon reached 
Bukharest, — where for two months Kutuzof had been living, 
spending his days and nights with his Wallachian mistress, — 
Prince Andrei asked his permission to be transferred to the 
western army. Kutuzof, who had already grown weary of the 


WAR AND PEACE. By 


excess of Bolkonsky’s activity, which was a constant reproach 
to his own indolence, willingly granted his request, and gave 
him a commission to Barclay de Tolly. 

Before joining the army, which, during the month of May, 
was encamped at Drissa, Prince Andrei drove to Luisiya 
Gorui, which was directly in his route, being only three versts 


_ from the Smolensk highway. 


During the last three years of Prince Andrei’s life, there 


had been so many changes, he had thought so much, felt so 


' 


J 


much, seen so much, 
east and the west,—that he felt a sense of strangeness, of 
unexpected amazement, to find at Luisiya Gorui exactly the 





for he had travelled through both the 


same manner of life even to the smallest details. As he 


entered the driveway, and passed the stone gates that guarded 


his paternal home, it seemed as though it were an enchanted 
castle, where everything was fast asleep. The same sobriety, 


the same neatness, the same quietude reigned in the house; 
_ the same furniture, the same walls, the same sounds, the same 


odor, and the same timid faces, only grown a little older. 

The Princess Mariya was the same timid, plain body, only ° 
grown into an old maid, and living out the best years of her 
life in fear and eternal moral sufferings, without profit and 
without happiness. Bourienne was the same coquettish, self- 
satisfied person, cheerfully getting profit out of every moment 
of her life, and consoling herself with the most exuberant 
hopes; only it seemed to Prince Andrei that she showed an 
increase of assurance. 

The tutor, Dessalles, whom Prince Andrei had brought from 
Switzerland, wore an overcoat of Russian cut; his unmanagea- 
ble tongue involved itself in Russian speech with the servants, 
but otherwise he was the same pious and. pedantical tutor of 
somewhat limited intelligence. 

The only physical change in the old prince was a gap left 


by the loss of a tooth, from one corner of his mouth; morally, 


he was just the same as before, only. with an accentuation of his 
ugly temper, and his distrust in the genuineness of everything 
that was done in the world. 

Nikolushka, with his rosy cheeks and dark, curly hair, had 
been the one person to grow and change; and, unconsciously, 
gay and merry, he lifted the upper lip of his pretty little 
mouth, just as the lamented princess, his mother, had done. 
He, alone, refused to obey the laws of immutability in this 
enchanted, sleeping castle. But, though externally every- 
thing remained as it had always been, the internal relations 


VOL. 3. — 8. 


oan WAR AND PEACE. 


of all these people had altered since Psince Andrei had seen 
them. 

The members of the household were divided into two alien 
and hostile camps, which made common cause now simply 
because he was there, —for his sake changing the ordinary 
course of their lives. To the one party belonged the old 
prince, Bourienne, and the architect: to the other, the Prin- 
cess Mariya, Dessalles, Nikolushka, and all the women of the 
establishment. 

During his brief stay at Luisiya Gorui, all the family dined 
together; but it was awkward for them all, and Prince Andrei 
felt that he was a guest for whose sake an exception was made, 
and that his presence was a constraint uponthem. At dinner, 
the first day, Prince Andrei, having this consciousness, was invol- 
untarily taciturn ; and the old prince, remarking the unnatural- 
ness of his behavior, also relapsed into a moody silence, and, 
immediately after dinner, retired to his room. When, later, 
Prince Andrei joined him there, and, with the desire of entertain- 
ing him, began to tell him about the young Count Kamiensky’s 
‘campaign, the old prince unexpectedly broke out into a tirade 
against the Princess Mariya, blaming her for her superstition, 
and her dislike of Mademoiselle Bourienne, who, according to 
him, was the only person truly devoted to him. 

The old prince laid the cause of his feeble health entirely 
to the Princess Mariya, insisting that she all the time annoyed 
and exasperated him; and that, by her injudicious coddling, 
and foolish talk, she was spoiling the little Prince Nikolai. 
The old prince was perfectly well aware that it was he who 
tormented his daughter, and that her life was rendered exceed: 
ingly trying; but’ he was also aware that he could not help 
tormenting her, and that she deserved it. 

“Why does not Prince Andrei, who sees how things are, say 
anything to me about his sister?” wondered the old prince. 
“ He thinks, I suppose, that I am a wicked monster, or an old 
idiot, who has unreasonably estranged himself from his 
daughter, and taken a Frenchwoman in her place. He does 
not understand ; and sol must explain to him, and he must lis- 
ten to me,” thought the old prince. And he began to expound 
the reasons that made it impossible to endure his daughter’s 
absurd character. 

“ Since you ask my opinion,” said Prince Andrei, not look- 
ing at his father—for he was condemning him for the first 
time in his life —“ but I did not wish to talk about it; since 
you ask me, however, I will tell you frankly my opinion, in 


i 


ee 


WAR AND PEACE. 35 


regard to this matter. If there is any misunderstanding and 
discord between you and Masha, I could never blame her for 
it, for | know how she loves and reveres you. And if you 
ask me further,’ pursued Prince Andrei, giving way to his 
irritation, because he had become of late exceedingly prone to 
fits of irritation, “then I must have one thing to say: if there 
is any such misunderstanding, the cause of it is that vulgar 
woman, who is unworthy to be my sister’s companion.” 

The old man at first gazed at his son with staring eyes, and, 
by his forced smile, uncovered the new gap caused by the loss 
of the tooth, to which Prince Andrei could not accustom him- 
self. 

“What companion, my dear? Ha! Have you already 
been talking that over? Ha!” 

“ Batyushka, I do not wish to judge you,’ said Prince 


_ Andrei, in a sharp and choleric voice; “but you have driven 


me to it; and I have said, and always shall say, that the 
Princess Mariya is net to blame; but they are to blame —the 
little Frenchwoman is to blame ” — 

“ Ha! you condemn me! you condemn me!” cried the old 
man, in a subdued voice, and with what seemed confusion to 
Prince Andrei; but then suddenly he sprang up, and 
screamed, — 

“ Away! away with you! Don’t dare to come here again! ” 


Prince Andrei intended to take his departure immediately ; 
but the Princess Mariya begged him to stay another day. He 


did not meet his father that day: the old prince kept in his 
room, and admitted no one except Mademoiselle Bourienne 


and Tikhon; but he inquired several times whether his son 
had yet gone. On the following day, just before dinner, 
Prince Andrei went to his little son’s apartment. The bloom- 
ing lad, with his curly hair, just like his mother’s, sat on his 
knee. Prince Andrei began to tell him the story of Bluebeard ; 
but, right in the midst of it, he lost the thread, and fell into a 
brown study. He did not give a thought to this pretty 
little lad, his son, while he held him on his knee, but 
he was thinking about himself. With a sense of horror, 
he sought, and failed to find, any remorse in the fact 
that he had exasperated his father; and noregret that he was 
about to leave him — after the first quarrel that they had ever 
had in their lives. More serious than all else was his discov- 
ery that he did not feel the affection for his son which he 
hoped to arouse, as of old, by caressing the lad and taking him 
on his knee. 


: 


36 WAR ANP PEACE. 


“Well, go on, papa!” said the boy. Prince Andrei, with- 
out responding, set him down from his knees, and left the 
room. The moment Prince Andrei suspended his daily occu- 
pations, and especially the moment he encountered the former 
conditions of his life, in which he had been engaged in 
the old, happy days, the anguish of life took possession of him 
with fresh force; and he made all haste to leave the scene of 
these recollections, and to find occupation as soon as possible. 

“ Are you really going, André?” asked his sister. 

“Thank God, I can go,” replied Prince Andrei. “Iam very 
sorry that you cannot also.” 

«What makes you say so?” exclaimed his sister. “Why 
do you say so, now that you are going to this terrible war? 
and he is so old! Mademoiselle Bourienne told me that he 
had asked after you.” As soon as she recalled this subject, 
her lips trembled, and the tears rained down her cheeks. 
Prince Andrei turned away, and began to pace up and down 
the room. . 

“Oh! my God! my God!”* he eried. “ And how do you 
conceive that any one — that such a contemptible creature can 
bring unhappiness to others!” he exclaimed, with such an out- 
burst of anger that it frightened the Princess Mariya. She 
understood that, in speaking of “such contemptible creatures,” 
he had reference not alone to Mademoiselle Bourienne, who 
had caused him misery, but also to that man who had destroyed 
his happiness. | 

“André! one thing I want to ask you; I beg of you,” 
said she, lightly touching his elbow and gazing at him with 
her eyes shining through her tears. — “I understand you.” — 
The Princess Mariya dropped her eyes. — “Do not think that 
sorrow is caused by men. Men are His instruments.” She 
gazed somewhat above her brother’s head, with that confident 
look that people have who are accustomed to look at the place 
where they know a portrait hangs. “Sorrow is sent by Him, 
and comes not from men. Men are Hisinstruments; they are 
not accountable. If it seem to you that any one is culpable 
toward you, forget it and forgive. We have no right to pun- 
ish. And you will find happiness in forgiving.” 

“Tf I were a woman | would, Marie! Forgiveness is a 
woman’s virtue. But aman has no right and no power to for- 
give and forget,” said he, and, although he was not at that 
instant thinking of Kuragin, all his unsatisfied vengeance 
suddenly surged up in his heart. “If the Princess Mariya at 

* Akh! Bozhe moi! Bozhe moi! 





WAR AND PEACE. 37 


this late day urges me to forgive, it is proof positive that I 
ought long ago to have punished,” he said to himself. And, 
not stopping to argue with his sister, he began to dream of 
that joyful moment of revenge when he should meet Kuragin, 
who (as he knew) had gone to the army. 

The Princess Mariya urged her brother to delay his jour- 
ney yet another day, assuring him how unhappy her father 
/would be if Andrei went off without a reconciliation with 
| ae but Prince Andrei replied that in all probability he 
should soon return from the army, that he would certainly 
write to his father, and that now the longer he staid the 
more bitter this quarrel would become. 

' “Adieu, André! remember that sorrows come from God, 
‘and that men are never accountable for them;” those were 
the last words that his sister said as they bade each other 
farewell. 

“Such is our fate!” said Prince Andrei to himself as he 
turned out of the avenue of the Luisogorsky mansion. “She, 
poor innocent creature, is left to be devoured by this crazy old 
‘man. The old man is conscious that he is doing wrong, but 
he cannot change his nature. My little lad is growing up and 
enjoying life, though he will become like all the rest of us, 
deceivers or deceived. I am going to the army —for what 
purpose I myself do not know, and I am anxious to meet a 
man, whom I despise, so as to give him a chance to kill me 
and exult over me.” 

In days gone by the same conditions of life had existed, but 
then there was a single purpose ramifying through them and 
connecting them, but now everything was in confusion. Iso- 
lated, illogical thoughts, devoid of connection, arose one after 
another in Prince Andrei’s mind. | 














CHAPTER IX. 

| 

| Prince Anpret reached the army headquarters toward the 
first of July. The troops of the first division, commanded by 
the sovereign in person, were intrenched in a fortified camp 
on the Drissa; the troops of the second division were in retreat 
though they were endeavoring to join the first, from which, as 
the report went, they had been cut off by a strong force of 
the French. All were dissatisfied with the general conduct of 
military affairs in the Russian army; but no one ever dreamed 
of any of the Russian provinces being invaded, and no one had 


1 


38 WAR AND PEACE. { 


supposed that the war would be carried beyond the western 
government of Poland. 

Prince Andrei found Barclay de Tolly on the bank of the | 
Drissa. As there was no large town or village within easy | 
reach of the camp, all this enormous throng of generals and 
courtiers who. were present with the army were scattered in- 
the best houses of the little villages for a distance of ten 
versts from the camp, on both sides of the river. 

Barclay de Tolly was stationed about four versts from the 
sovereign. . 

He gave Bolkonsky a dry and chilling welcome, and, speak- 
ing in his strong German accent, told him that he should have’ 
to send in his name to the sovereign for any definite employ- 
ment, but proposed that for the time being he should remain 
on his staff. Anatol Kuragin, whom Prince Andrei hoped to 
find at the army, was no longer there ; he had gone to Peters- 
burg, and this news was agreeable to Bolkonsky. He was 
absorbed in the interest of being at the very centre of a 
mighty war just beginning, and he was glad to be, for a short. 
time, freed from the provocation which the thought of 
Kuragin produced in him. 

During the first four days, as no special duties were required 
of him, Prince Andrei made the circuit of the whole fortified 
camp, and by the aid of his natural intelligence and by making 
inquiries of men who were well informed he managed to 
acquire a very definite comprehension of the position. But: 
the question whether this camp were advantageous or not 
remained undecided in his mind. He had already come to the’ 
conclusion, founded on his own military experience, that even! 
those plans laid with the profoundest deliberation are of little. 
consequence in battle —how plainly he had seen this on the 
field of Austerlitz!—that everything depends on what was 
done to meet the unexpected and impossible-to-be-foreseen! 
tactics of the enemy, that all depended on how and by whom! 
the affair was conducted. : 

Therefore in order to settle this last question in his own 
mind Prince Andrei, taking advantage of his position and his 
acquaintances, tried to penetrate the character of the adminis- 
tration of the armies, and of the persons and parties that took 
part in it, and he drew up for his own benefit the following 
digest of the position of affairs. 

While the sovereign was still at Vilno, the troops had beer 
divided into three armies: the first was placed under commant 
of Barclay de Tolly; the second under the command 0 








WAR AND PEACE. 39 


Bagration; the third under command of Tormasof. The 
smperor was present with the first division, but not in his 
yuality of commander-in-chief. In the orders of the day it 
vas simply announced that the sovereign would — not take 
sommand, but would simply be present with the army. More- 
wer the sovereign had no personal staff, as would have been 
ihe case had he been commander-in-chief, but only a staff 
ippropriate to the imperial headquarters. Attached to him 
were the chief of the imperial staff, the General-Quartermaster 
Prince Volkonsky, generals, fliigel-adjutants, diplomatic chi- 
wuniks and a great throng of foreigners; but these did not 
‘orm a military staff. Besides these there were attached to 
ais person, but without special functions, Arakcheyef, the 
*xX-minister of war; Count Benigsen, with the rank of senior 
general; the grand duke, the Tsesarevitch Konstantin Pavlo- 
“itch, Count Rumyantsef ; the Chancellor Stein, who had been 
Minister in Prussia; Armfeldt, a Swedish general; Pfuhl, the 
orincipal originator of the plan of the campaign; Paulucci, 
yeneral-adjutant and a Sardinian refugee; Woltzogen, and 
nany others. 

Although these individuals were present without any spe- 
jal military function, still by their peculiar position they 
wielded a powerful influence, and oftentimes the chief of the 
orps, and even the commander-in-chief, did not know in what 
Japacity Benigsen or the Grand Duke or Arakcheyef or 
‘ince Volkonsky asked questions or proffered advice, and 
‘ould not tell whether such and such an order, couched in the 
orm of a piece of advice, emanated from the speaker or the 
‘overeign, and whether it was incumbent upon him or not in- 
‘umbent upon him to carry it out. But these were merely a 
tage accessory; the essential idea why the emperor was 
‘wesent and all these men were present was perfectly palpable 
19 all from the point of view of courtiers, and in the pres- 
ce of the sovereign all were courtiers. 

This idea was as follows: The monarch did not assume the 
‘itle of commander-in-chief, but he exercised control over all the 
‘toops ; the men who surrounded him were his aids; Arakcheyef 
ras the faithful guardian of law and order, and the sovereign’s 
‘ody guard. Benigsen was a landowner in the Vilno government, 
‘ho, as it were, did les honneurs of the region, and in reality was 
nexcellent general, useful in council, and ready, in case he were 
jeeded, to take Barclay’s place. The Grand Duke was there 
'ecause it was a pleasure for him to be. Ex-Minister Stein 
(as there because he was needed to give advice, and because 





40 WAR AND PEACE. 


the Emperor Alexander had a very high opinion of his per- 
sonal qualities. Armfeldt was Napoleon’s bitter enemy, and 
a general possessed of great confidence in his own ability, 
which always had an influence-upon Alexander. Pauluceci was 
there because he was bold and resolute in speech. The gen- 
eral-adjutants were there because they were always attendant | 
on the sovereign’s movements ; and, last and not least, Pfuhl 
was there because he had conceived a plan for the campaign 
against Napoleon, and had induced Alexander to place his con-- 
fidence in the expedience of this plan, thereby directing the 
entire action of the war. Pfuhl was attended by Woltzogen, 
a keen, self-conceited cabinet theorist, who scorned all things, 
and had the skill to dress Pfuhl’s schemes in a more pleasing 
form than Pfuhl himself could. 

In addition to these individuals already mentioned, Rus- 
sians and foreigners, — especially foreigners, who each day 
proposed new and unexpected plans with that boldness char- 
acteristic of men engaged in activities in a land not their own, 
— there were a throng of subordinates who were present with 
the army because their principals were there. 

Amid all the plans and voices in this tremendous, restless, 
brilliant, and haughty world, Prince Andrei distinguished the 
following sharply outlined subdivisions of tendencies and 
parties. 

The first party consisted of Pfuhl and his followers, military 
theorists, who believed that there was such a thing as a 
science of war, and that this science had its immutable laws. 
—the laws for oblique movements, for outflanking, and so on, 
Pfuhl and his followers insisted on retreating into the interior 
of the country, according to definite principles prescribed by 
the so-styled science of war, and in every departure from this 
theory they saw nothing but barbarism, ignorance, or evil inten- 
tions. ‘lo this party belonged the German princes, and Wolt- 
zogen, Winzengerode, and others; notably the Germans. | 

The second party was. diametrically opposed to the first. 
And, as always happens, they went to quite opposite extremes. 
The men of this party were those who insisted on making 
Vilno the base of a diversion into Poland, and demanded to be 
freed from all preconceived plans. Not only were the leaders 
of this party the representatives of the boldest activity, but at 
the same time they were also the representatives of nation- 
alism, in consequence of which they showed all the more 
urgency in maintaining their side of the dispute. Such were 
the Russians Bagration, Yermolof, — who was just beginning 





WAR AND PEACE. 41 


‘to come into prominence, —and many others. It was at this 
time that Yermolof’s famous jest was quoted extensively: it 
was said that he asked the emperor to grant him the favor of 
‘promoting him to be a German! The men of this party re- 
ealled Suvorof, and declared that there was no need of making 
plans or marking the map up with pins, but to fight, to beat 
the foe, not to let him enter Russia, and not to let the army 
lose heart. 
' The third party, in which the sovereign placed the greatest 
“confidence, consisted of those courtiers who tried to find a 
‘happy mean between the two previous tendencies. These 
‘men —for the most part civilians, and Arakcheyef was in their 
‘number —thought and talked as men usually talk who have no 
‘convictions, and do not wish to show their lack of them. 
{They declared that unquestionably the war, especially with 
Such a genius as Bonaparte, — for they now called him Bona- 
‘parte again, —demanded the profoundest consideration, and 
a thorough knowledge of the science, and, in this respect, 
‘Pfuhl was endowed with genius; but, at the same time, it was 
impossible not to acknowledge that theorists were apt to be 
jone-sided, and, therefore, it was impossible to have perfect 
‘confidence in them; it was necessary to heed also what Pfuhl’s 
‘opposers had to say, and also what was said by men who had 
‘had practical experience in military affairs, and then to balance 
‘the two. The men of this party insisted on retaining the 
‘amp along the Drissa, according to Pfuhl’s plan, but in 
‘shanging the movements of the other divisions. 
The fourth decided tendency was the one of which the 
'bstensible representative was the Grand Duke, the Tsesaré- 
‘itch * Konstantin, heir-apparent to the throne, who could not 
‘orget his disappointment at the battle of Austerlitz, when he 
‘ode out at the head of his guards, dressed in casque and 
‘acket as for a parade, expecting to drive the French gallantly 
yefore him, and, unexpectedly finding himself within range 
yf the enemy’s guns, was by main force involved in the gen- 
‘ral confusion. ‘The men of this party showed in their opin- 
‘ons both sincerity and lack of sincerity. They were afraid of 
‘Napoleon ; they saw that he was strong while they were weak, 
ind they had no hesitation in saying so. They said, ‘ Noth- 
* but misfortune, ignominy, and defeat will, come out of 
ll t 












his. Here we have abandoned Vilno; we have abandoned 


__ * Any son of the Tsar is properly tsarévitch, but the crown prince bears 
jhe distinctive title tsesarévitch (literally, son of the Cesar). Count Tolstoi 
mphasizes his position by using also the term naslyédnik, successor, heir. 


49 WAR AND PEACE. 


Titebsk ; we shall abandon the Drissa in like manner. The 
only thing left for us to do in all reason is to conclude peace, 
and as speedily as possible, before we are driven out of Peters- 
burg.” 

This opinion, widely current in the upper spheres of the 
army, found acceptance also in Petersburg, and was supported 
by the Chancellor Rumyantsef, who for other reasons of state 
was also anxious for peace. ) | 

A fifth party was formed by those who were partisans of 
Barclay de Tolly not as a man, but simply because he was 
minister of war and commander-in-chief. These said, “ What- 
ever he is,”—and that was the way they always began, — 
“he is an honest, capable man, and he has no superior. Give 
him actual power because the war can never come to any suc- 
cessful issue without some one in sole control, and then he 
will show what he can do, just as he proved it in Finland. 
We owe it to this Barclay, and to him alone, that our forces 
are well organized and powerful, and made the retreat to the 
‘Drissa without suffering any loss. If now Barclay is replaced 
by Benigsen all will go to rack and ruin, because Benigsen 
made an exhibition of his incapacity in 1807,” said the men 
of this party. 

A. sixth party —the Benigsenists — claimed the contrary ; 
that there was no one more capable and experienced than. 
Benigsen, “and, however far they go out of his way, they’ll 
have to return to him.” “Let them make their mistakes 
now!” And the men of this party argued that our whole 
retreat to the Drissa was a disgraceful defeat: and an uninter 
rupted series of blunders. “The more blunders they make 
now the better, or, at least, the sooner they will discover tha 
things cannot go on in this way,” said they. “ Such a man as 
Barclay is not needed, but a man like Benigsen, who showe 
what he was in 1807. Napoleon himself has done him justice 
and he is a man whose authority all would eladly recognize 
and such a man is Benigsen and no one else.” 

The seventh party consisted of individuals such as aré 
always found especially around young monarchs — and Alex 
ander the emperor had a remarkable number of such — namely 
generals and fliigel-adjutants who were passionately devote 
to their sovereign, not in his quality as emperor, but worshippe¢ 
him as a man, heartily and disinterestedly, just as Rosto 
had worshipped him in 1805, and saw in him not only al 
virtues but all human qualities. These individuals, althoug 
they praised their sovereign’s modesty in declining. to assum 












WAR AND PEACE. 43 





ihe duties of commander-in-chief, still criticised this excess of 
snodesty, and had only one desire which they insisted upon, 
shat their adored monarch, overcoming his excessive lack of 
sonfidence in himself, should openly announce that he would 
‘ake his place at the head of his armies, gather around him 
‘he appropriate staff of a commander-in-chief, and, while con- 
‘ulting in cases of necessity with theorists and practical men 
of experience, himself lead his troops, who by this mere fact 
‘vould be roused to the highest pitch of enthusiasm. 

‘ The eighth and by all odds the largest group of individuals, 
‘vhich in comparison with the others all put together would 
vank as ninety-nine to one, consisted of men who desired 
‘either peace nor war nor offensive operations, nor a defensive 
vamp on the Drissa or anywhere else, nor Barclay, nor the 
‘overeign, nor Pfuhl, nor Benigsen, but simply wished one 
imd the same essential thing:—the utmost possible advan- 
ages and enjoyments for themselves. In these troubled 
vaters of intertangled and complicated intrigues such as 
bounded at the sovereign’s headquarters, it became possible 
0 succeed in many things which would have been infeasible 
it any other time. One whose sole desire was not to lose his 
dvantageous position was to-day on Pfuhl’s side, to-morrow 
lied with his opponent, on the day following, for the sake 
‘aerely of shirking responsibility and pleasing the sovereign, 
vould declare that he had no opinion in regard to some well- 
nown matter. 

» A second, anxious to curry favor, would attract the sover- 
ign’s attention by boisterously advocating at the top of his 
0ice something which the sovereign had merely hinted at the 
‘ay before, by arguing and yelling at the council meeting, 
‘ounding himself in the chest and challenging to a duel any 
me who took the other side, and thereby show how ready he 
as to be a martyr for the public weal. 

» A third would simply demand between two meetings of the 
ouncil and while his enemies were out of sight a definitive sub- 
ention in return for his faithful service of the state, knowing 
‘ery well that they would never be able to refuse him. A fourth 
‘ould forever by the merest chance let the sovereign see how 
jverwhelmed with work he was! A fifth, in order to attain 
‘Is long cherished ambition of being invited to dine at the 
dvereign’s table, would stubbornly argue the right or wrong 
if some newly conceived opinion and bring up for this purpose 
ore or less powerful and well founded arguments. 

| All the men of this party were hungry for rubles, honorary 














44 WAR AND PEACE. 


crosses, promotions, and-in their pursuit of these things they 
watched the direction of the weathercock of the sovereign’s 
favor, and just as soon as it was seen that the weathercock 
pointed in any cne direction all this population of military 
drones would begin to blow in the same direction so that it 
was sometimes all the harder for the sovereign to change about 
to the other side. In this uncertainty of position, in presence 
of the real danger that was threatening and which impressed 
upon everything a peculiarly disquieting character, amid this 
vortex of intrigues, selfish ambitions, collisions, diverse opin- 
ions and feelings, with all the variety of nationalities repre- 
sented.by all these men, this eighth and by far the largest 
party of men, occupied with private interests, gave great com- 
plication and confusion to affairs in general, Whatever ques- 
tion came up, instantly this swarm of drones, before they had 
finished their buzzing over the previous theme, would fly off 
to the new one and deafen every one and entirely drown out 
the genuine voices who had something of worth to say. 

Just about the time that Prince Andrei arrived at the army, 
still a ninth party was forming out of all these others, and | 
beginning to let its voice be heard. This was the party of 
veteran statesmen, men of sound wisdom and experience, who, 
sharing in none of all these contradictory opinions, were able 
to look impartially upon all that was going on at headquarters 
and to devise means for escaping from this vagueness, indecis- 
ion, confusion, and weakness. 

The men of this party said and thought that nothing but 
mischief resulted pre-eminently from the presence of the 
sovereign with a military court at the front, introducing into 
the army that indeterminate, conditional, and fluctuating irreg- 
ularity of relations which, however useful at court, were 
ruinous to the troops; that it was the monarch’s business to 
govern, and not to direct the army ; that the only eure for all 
these troubles was for the sovereign and his court, to take 
their departure; that the mere fact of the emperor being with 
the army paralyzed the movements of fifty thousand men whe 
were required to protect him from personal peril; that the 
most incompetent general-in-chief, if he were independent, 
would be better than the best, hampered by the sovereign’s 
presence. , 

While Prince Andrei was at Drissa, without stated position, 
Shishkof, the imperial secretary, who was one of the chiet 
members of this faction, wrote the sovereign a letter whieli 
Balashof and Arakcheyef agreed to sign. Taking advantage 


WAR AND PEACE, 45 


of the permission accorded him by the sovereign to make 
| Suggestions concerning the general course of events, he re- 
spectfully, and under the pretext that it was necessary for 
the sovereign to stir the people of the capital to fresh enthu- 
siasm for this war, in this letter proposed that he should leave 
the army. 
The fanning of the enthusiasm of the people by the sover- 
eign and his summons to defend the fatherland —the very 
‘thing which led to the ultimate triumph of Russia and to 
which so largely his personal presence in Moscow contributed 
“— was therefore offered to the emperor and accepted by him 
as a pretext for quitting the army. 


CHAPTER X. 


Tuts letter had not as yet been placed in the sovereign’s 
hands, when Barclay at dinner informed Bolkonsky that his 
‘Majesty would be pleased to have a personal interview with 
him, in order to make some inquiries concerning Turkey, and 
that he, Prince Andrei, was to present himself at Benigsen’s 
‘lodgings at six o’clock that evening. 
_ On that day a report had been brought to the sovereign’s 
‘residence concerning a new movement on the part of Napo- 
‘leon which might prove dangerous for the army —a report 
which afterward proved to be false, however. ‘And on that 
‘very same morning, Colonel Michaud, in company with the 
emperor, had ridden around the fortifications on the Drissa 
and had proved conclusively to the sovereign that this forti- 
fied camp, which had been laid out under Pfuhl’s direction 
and had been up to that time considered a chef d’wuvre of tac- 
tical skill destined to be the ruin of Napoleon, — that this 
camp was a piece of folly and a source of danger for the Rus- 
‘Slan army. 
'* Prince Andrei proceeded to the lodging of General Benig- 
sen, who had established himself in a small villa on the very 
bank of the river. Neither Benigsen nor the sovereign was 
‘there; but Chernuishef, the emperor's fltigel-adjutant, received 
Bolkonsky and explained that the sovereign had gone with 
General Benigsen and the Marchese Paulucci for a second 
‘time that day on a tour of inspection of the fortified camp of 
‘the Drissa, as to the utility of which serious doubts had begun 
to be conceived. 
| Chernuishef was sitting with a French novel at one of the 


a! 


46 WAR AND PEACE. 


windows of the front room. This room had at one time 
probably been a ballroom ; there still stood in it an organ on 
which were piled a nuinber of rugs, and in one corner stood 
the folding bed belonging to Benigsen’s adjutant. This adju- 
tant was there. Apparently overcome by some merry-making 
or perhaps by work he lay stretched out on the bed and was 
fast asleep. 

Two doors led from this hall; one directly into the former 
drawing-room, the other to the right into the library. Through 


the first voices were heard conversing in German and occa- 


sionally in French. Yonder, in that former drawing-room were ~ 


gathered together at the sovereign’s request not a. council of 
war —for the*sovereign was fond of indefiniteness — but a 
meeting of a number of individuals whose opinions concerning 
the existing difficulties he was anxious of ascertaining. It 
was not a council of war but a sort of committee of gentlemen 
convened to explain certain questions for the sovereign’s 
personal gratification. To this semi-council were invited the 
Swedish general Armfeldt, General-adjutant Woltzogen, 
Winzengerode, whom Napoleon had called a fugitive French 
subject, Michaud, Toll, who was also not at all a military man, 
Count Stein, and finally Pfuhl himself, who, as Prince Andrei 
had already heard, was la cheville ouvriere —the mainspring 
of the whole affair. Prince Andrei had an opportunity of 
getting a good look at him, as Pfuhl arrived shortly after he 
did and came into the drawing-room, where he stood for a 
minute or two talking with Chernuishef. 

Pfuhl, dressed like a Russian general in a uniform that was 
clumsily constructed and set on him without the slightest 
attempt at a graceful fit, seemed to Prince Andrei at first 
glance like an old acquaintance, although he had never seen 
him before. He was of the same type as Weirother and Mack 


and Schmidt and many other German theorist-generals whom | 


Prince Andrei had seén in 1805; but he was more charactetg 


istic of the type than all the rest. Never in his life had — 


Prince Andrei seen a German theorist who so completely 
united in himself all that was typical of those Germans. 
Pfuhl was short and very thin, but big-boned, of coarse, 
healthy build, with a broad pelvis and prominent shoulder- 
blades. His face was full of wrinkles, and he had deep-set 
eyes. His hair had been evidently brushed in some haste for- 
ward by the temples, but behind it stuck out in droll little 
tufts. Looking round sternly and nervously, he came into the 
room as though he were afraid of every one. With awkwar4 





WAR AND PEACE. AT 


gesture grasping his sword, he turned to Chernuishef and 
asked in German where the emperor was. It was evident that 
he was anxious to make the round of the room as speedily as 
possible, to put an end to the salutations and greetings and to 
seat himself before the map, where alone he felt that he was 
quite at home. He abruptly tossed his head in reply to Cher- 
nuishef’s answer and smiled ironically at the report that the 
sovereign had gone to inspect the fortifications which Pfuhl 
himself had constructed in accordance with his theory. Ina 
_ deep, gruff voice characteristic of all self-conceited Germans 
he grumbled to himself, “Stupid blockhead !— Ruin the whole 
business ; pretty state of things will be the result.” * 

Prince Andrei did not listen to him and was about to gO, 

but Chernuishef introduced him to Pfuhl, remarking that he 
_ had just come from Turkey, where the war had been brought 

to a successful termination. Pfuhl gave a fleeting glance not 
so much at Prince Andrei as through him, and muttered with 

a smile, “ That must have been afine tactical campaign.” ft And, 
_ scornfully smiling, he went into the room where the voices 
. were heard. 

Evidently Pfuhl, who was always disposed to be ironical 
and irritable, was on this day especially stirred up because they 
had dared without him to inspect his camp and criticise him. 

Prince Andrei, simply by this brief interview with Pfuhl, 
re-enforced by his experiences at Austerlitz, had gained a suffi- 
ciently clear insight into the character of this man. Pfuhl was 
one of those hopelessly, unalterably self-conceited men who 
would suffer martyrdom rather than yield his opinion, a genu- 
ine German, for the very reason that Germans alone are abso- 
lutely certain, in their own minds, of the solid foundation 
of that abstract idea, —Science; that is to say, the assumed 
knowledge of absolute truth. 

The Frenchman is self-conceited because he considers him- 
\Self individually, both as regards mind and body, irresistibly 
captivating to either men or women. The Englishman is con- 
ceited through his absolute conviction that he is a citizen of 
the most fortunately constituted kingdom in the world, and | 
because, as an Englishman, he knows, always and in all cir- 
cumstances what it is requisite for him to do, and also knows 
that all that he does as an Englishman is correct beyond cavil. 
The Italian is conceited because he is excitable, and easily for- 


* Dummkopf!— Zum Grunde die ganze Geschichte—’s wird was ge 
| Bcheites draus werden. 
| t Da muss ein schiner tactischer Krieg gewesen sein. 


A8 WAR AND PEACE. 


gets himself and others. The Russian is conceited for the 
precise reason that he knows nothing, and wishes to know 
nothing, because he believes that it is impossible to know any- 
thing. But the German is conceited in a worse way than all the 
rest, because he imagines that, he knows the truth, —the sci- 
ence which he has himself invented, but which for him is 
absolute truth ! 

Evidently such a man was Pfuhl. He had his science, — 
the theory of oblique movements, which he had deduced from 
the history of the wars of Friedrich the Great, —and every- 
thing that he saw in the warfare of more recent date seemed 
to him nonsense, barbarism, ignorant collisions in which, on 
both sides, so many errors were committed that these wars had 
no right to be called wars. They did not come under his theory, 
and could not be judged as a subject for science. 

In 1806 Pfuhl had been one of those who elaborated the plan | 
of the campaign that culminated at Jena and Auerstadt, but 
the unfortunate issue of that campaign did not open his eyes 
to see the slightest fault in his theory. On the contrary, the 
fact that his theory had been, to a certain extent, abandoned, 
was in his mind the sole cause of the whole failure; and he 
said, in the tone of self-satisfied irony characteristic of him, 
“Teh sagte ja dass die ganze Geschichte zum Teufel gehen 
werde, —I predicted that the whole thing would go to the 
deuce.” 

Pfuhl was one of those theorists who are so in love with 
their theory that they forget the object of the theory, its rela- 
tion to practice. In his fanatic devotion to his theory he hated 
everything practical, and could not listen to it. He even de- 
lighted in the failure of any enterprise, because this failure, 
resulting from the abandonment of theory for practice, was 
proof positive to him of how correct his theory was. 

He spoke a few words with Prince Andrei and Chernuishef 
about the existing war with the expression of a man who knew 
in advance that all was going to the dogs, and that he, for one, 
did not much regret the fact. The little tufts of unkempt hair 
that stuck out on his occiput, and the hastily brushed love- 
locks around his temples, spoke eloquently of this. 

He went into the adjoining room, and instantly they heard 
the deep-set and querulous sounds of his voice. 


WAR AND PEACE. 49 


CHAPTER XI. 


Prince ANDREI had no time to let his eyes follow Pfuhl, as 
Count Benigsen just at that moment came hastily into the 
room, and, inclining his head to Bolkonsky, but not pausing, 
went directly into the hbrary, giving his adjutant some order 

as he went. Benigsen had hurried home in advance of the 
_ sovereign in order to make some preparations, and to be there 
to receive him. 

Chernuishef and Prince Andrei went out on the steps. The 
emperor, with an expression of fatigue, was dismounting from 
his horse. The Marchese Paulucci was making some remark. 
The sovereign, with his head bent over to the left, was listen. 
ing with a discontented air to Paulucci, who was speaking with 
hisusualvehemence. The sovereign started forward, evidently 
desirous of cutting short this harangue; but the flushed and 
excited Italian, forgetting the proprieties, followed him, still 
talking, — 

“ As for the man who advised this camp, the camp of Drissa,” 
Paulucci was saying just as the sovereign, mounting the steps 
and perceiving Prince Andrei, glanced into his face, though he 
did not recognize him. “As to him, Sire,” pursued Paulucci, 
in a state of desperation, as though quite unable to control 
hiinself, — “as for the man who advised this camp of Drissa, 
I see no other alternative for him than the insane asylum or 
the gallows.” * : 

The sovereign, not waiting for the Italian to ‘finish what he 
had to say, and as though not even hearing his words, came 
closer to Bolkonsky, and, recognizing him, addressed him gra- 
ciously, — : 

“Very glad to see you. Come in where the gentlemen are, 
and wait for me.” 

The sovereign went into the library. He was followed by 
Prince Piotr Mikhailovitch Volkonsky and Baron Stein, and 
the door was shut. Prince Andrei, taking advantage of the 
Sovereign’s permission, joined Paulucci, whom he had known 
in Turkey, and went into the drawing-room where the council 
was held. | 

Prince Piotr Mikhailovitch Volkonsky held the position of 
nachalnik, or chief of the sovereign’s staff. Volkonsky came 


* Quant a celui, Sire, qui a conseillé le camp de Drissa, je ne vois pas a’aw: 
tre alternative que la maison jaune ou le gibet. 


VOL. 3. — 4, : 


50 WAR AND PEACE. 


out of the cabinet and carried into the drawing-room a quan- 
tity of maps and papers, and as he deposited them upon the 
table he communicated the questions in regard to which he was 
anxious to have the opinions of the gentlemen present. ‘The 
questions arose from the fact that news, afterwards proved to 
be false, had been received the night before concerning a move- 
ment of the French toward outflanking the camp on the 
Drissa. 

General Armfeldt was the first to begin the debate, and he 
unexpectedly proposed, as an escape from the impending diffi- 
culty, that they should choose an entirely new position at a 
little distance from the highways leading to Moscow and Peters- 
burg; and there, as he expressed it, let the army be increased 
to its full strength, and await the enemy. No one could see 
any reason for his advocating such a scheme, unless it came 
from his desire to show that he, as well as the rest, had ideas 
of his own. 

It was evident that Armfeldt had long ago evolved this 
scheme, and that he proposed it now not so much with the 
design of responding to the questions laid before the meeting 
— questions which this scheme of his entirely failed to answer 
—as it was with the design of using his chance to enunciate it. 
This was only one of the millions of proposals which, not hav- 
ing any reference to the character which the war was likely to 
assume, had equally as good foundations as others of the same 
sort for successful accomplishment. 

Some of those present attacked his suggestions, others de- 
fended them. The young Colonel Toll attacked the opinions 
of the Swedish general more fiercely than the others, and dur- 
ing the discussion took out of his side pocket a manuscript 
note-book, which he begged permission to read. In this dif- 
fusely elaborated manuscript Toll proposed still another plan 
of campaign, diametrically the opposite of those suggested by 
Armfeldt and Pfuhl. 

Paulucci, combating Toll, proposed the plan of an advance 
and attack, which, according to his views, was the only possible 
way to extricate us from the present suspense, and from the 
“trap,” as he called the camp on the Drissa, in which we now 
found ourselves. 

During the course of these discussions and criticisms Pfuhi 
and Woltzogen, his interpreter (his “bridge,” in Court par- 
lance), maintained silence. Pfuhl merely snorted scornfully 
and turned away, signifying that he would never sink’ so low 
as to reply to all this rubbish to which he was now listening. 


WAR AND PEACE. Bl 


- So when Prince Volkonsky, as chairman of the meeting, called 
upon him to express his opinion, he merely said, — 

“Why do youask me? General Armfeldt has proposed a 
beautiful position, with the rear exposed, and you have heard 
about the offensive operations proposed by this Italian gentle- 
man. Sehr schon! Or the retreat. Auch gut! So why do 
you ask me?” he replied; “for, you see, you yourselves know 
more about all this than I do.” 

But when Volkonsky frowned, and said that he asked his 
' opinion in the name of the sovereign, then Pfuhl got up, and, 
growing suddenly excited, began to speak : — 

“You have spoiled everything, you have thrown everything 
into confusion. You pretend to know more about the whole 
thing than I do, but here you are coming tome now. How can 
things be remedied? ‘There’s no possibility of remedying 
them. It is necessary to carry out to the letter my design, on 
_ the lines which I have laid down,” said he, pounding the table 
with his bony knuckles. “Where is the difficulty ? Rubbish! 
Kinderspiel!” He stepped up to the table and began to talk 
rapidly, scratching with his finger-nail on the map, and demon- 
strating that no contingency could alter the effectiveness of 
the camp on the Drissa; that everything had been foreseen, 
and that if the enemy were actually to outflank them, then the 
enemy would be inevitably annihilated. 

Paulucci, who did not understand German, began to question 
him in French. Woltzogen came to the aid of his leader, who 
spoke French but badly, and began to translate his words, 
though he could hardly keep up with Pfuhl, who rapidly de- 
monstrated that everything, everything, not only what had 
happened but whatever could possibly happen, had been pre- 
vided for in his plan, and that if there were any complications 
the whole blame lay simply in the fact that his plan had not 
been accurately carried out. He kept smiling ironically as he 
made his demonstration, and finally he scornfully stopped ad- 
ducing arguments, just as a mathematician ceases to verify the 
various steps of a problem which has once been found correctly 
solved. Woltzogen took his place, proceeding to explain in 
French his ideas, and occasionally turning to Pfuhl with a 

“ Nicht wahr, Excellenz ?”’ for confirmation. 

Pfuhl, like a man so excited in a battle that he attacks his 
Own side, cried testily to his own faithful follower, to Woltzo- 
gen, “ Why, of course; it’s as plain as daylight.” * 

Paulucci and Michaud both at once fell on Woltzogen in 


* Nunja! was soli denn da noch expliziert werden ! 


52 WAR AND PEACE. 


French, Armfeldt addressed a question to Pfuhl in German, 
Toll explained the matter in Russian to Prince Volkonsky. 
Prince Andrei listened without speaking, and watched the pro. 
ceedings. 

Of all these individuals the exasperated, earnest, and ab. 

surdly self-conceited Pfuhl awoke the most sympathy in Prince 
Andrei. “He alone, of all present, evidently had no taint of 
self-seeking, nor had he any hatred of any one, but simply 
desired that his plan, elaborated from his theory which had 
been deduced from his studies during long years, should be car- 
ried into execution. He was ridiculous, his use of sarcasm 
made him disagreeable; but at the same time he awakened 
involuntary respect by his boundless devotion to an idea. 
_ Besides, in all the remarks made by those who were present, 
with the sole exception of Pfuhl’s, there was one common fea- 
ture which had never been manifested in the council of war 
in the year 1805, and this was a panic fear, —even though: 
sophisticated, — in presence of the genius of Napoleon, which 
showed itself in every argument. They took it for granted 
that Napoleon could do anything. They looked for him on 
every side, and by the magic of his terrible name each one of 
them demolished the proposals of the other. Pfuhl alone, it 
seemed, regarded even Napoleon as a barbarian, like all the 
other opponents of his theory. 

Over and above his feeling of respect for Pfahl, Prince Andrei 
was conscious also of a feeling of pity for the man. By the 
tone in which he was addressed by the courtiers, by the way 
in which Paulucci had permitted himself to speak of him to 
the emperor, and, above all, by a certain desperate expression 
manifested by Pfuhl himself, it was plain to see that the others 
knew, and he himself felt, that his fall was at hand. And, 
aside from his self-conceit and his grumbling German irony, 
he was pitiable by reason of his hair brushed forward into little 
love-locks on his temples, and the little tufts standing out on 
his occiput. Although he did his best to dissimulate it under 
the guise of exasperation and scorn, he was in despair because 
his only chance of showing his theory on a tremendous scale, 
and proving it before all the world, was slipping from him. 

The discussion: lasted a long time, and the longer it lasted 
the more heated grew the arguments, which were like quarrels 
by reason of the raised voices and personalities; and the less 
possible was it to come to any general conclusion from all that 
was said. Prince Andrei, listening to this polyglot debate and 
these propositions, plans, and counter-plans, and shouts, was 


WAR AND PEACE. 53 


simply astonished at what they all said. The idea which had 
early and often suggested itself to him during the time of his 
former military service, —that there was not, and could not 
be, any such thing as a military science, and consequently could 
not be any so- called military genius, — now seemed to him a 
truth beyond a peradventure. 
“ Flow, can there be any theory and science in a matter the 
conditions and -circumstances of which are unknown and can- 
not be determined, —in which the force employed by those 
‘who make the war is still less capable of measurement? No 
one can possibly know what will be the position of our army 
and that of the enemy’s a day from now, and no one can know 
‘what is the force of this or that division. Sometimes. when 
“there is no coward in the front to cry, ‘We are cut off,’ and 
to start the panic, and there is a jovial, audacious man ‘there 
to shout, ‘Hurrah!’ a division of five thousand is worth 
thirty thousand, as was the case at Schéngraben ; and sometimes 
fifty thousand will fly béfore eight, as happened at Aus- 
‘terlitz. What science, then, can there be in such a business, 
‘where nothing can be pre-determined, as in any practical busi- 
ness, and where everything depends on numberless conditions, 
the resolving of which is defined at some one moment, but 
when —no one can possibly foretell. Armfeldt says that our 
army is cut off, and Paulucci declares that we have: got the 
French army between two fires. Michaud says that the use- 
lessness of the camp on the Drissa consists in this, that the 
Tiver is back of it, while Pfuhl declares that therein consists 
its strength. Toll proposes one plan, Armfeldt proposes 
another, and all are good and all are bad, and the advantages 
of each and every proposition can be proven only at the 
moment when the event occurs. And why do they all use the 
term, ‘military genius’? Is that man a genius who manages 
to keep his army well supplied with biscuits, and commands 
them to go, some to the left and some to the right? Merely 
because military men are clothed with glory and power, and 
erowds of sycophants are always ready to fatter Power, ascrib- 
ing to it the inappropriate attributes of genius. On the other 
hand, the best generals whom I have ever known were stupid 
Or absent-minded men. The best was Bagration; Nepoleon 
himself called him so. And Bonaparte himself! I remember 
his self-satisfied and narrow-minded face on the field of Aus- 
terlitz. A good leader on the field of battle needs not genius 
or any of the special qualities'so much as he needs the exact 
opposite, or the lack of these highest human qualities — love, 


b4 WAR AND PEACE. 


poetry, affection, a philosophical, investigating scepticism. 
He must be narrow-minded, firmly convinced that what he is 
doing is absolutely essential (otherwise he will not have pa- 
tience), and then only will he be a brave leader. God pity him | 
if he is aman who has any love for any one, or any pity, or | 
has any scruples about right or wrong.. It is perfectly com- 
prehensible that in old times they invented a theory of gen- | 
iuses because they held power. Credit for success in battle | 
depends not upon them but upon that man in the ranks who | 
cries, ‘They are on us,’ or who shouts, ‘Hurrah.’ And only | 
in the ranks can you serve with any assurance that you are | 
of any service.” 

Thus mused Prince Andrei as he listened to the arguments, | 
and he came out of his brown study only when Paulucci | 
called him and the meeting was already adjourned. | 

On the following day, during a review, the sovereign asked | 
Prince Andrei where he preferred to serve, and Prince Andrei | 
forever lost caste in the eyes of tle courtiers because he did | 
not ask for a place near the sovereign’s person, but asked per- | 
mission to enter active service. 


CHAPTER XII. 


Rostor, before the opening of the campaign, received a letter | 
from his parents, in which, after briefly announcing Natasha’s | 
illness and the rupture of the engagement with Prince Andrei, 
—this rupture, they explained, was Natasha’s own work, — | 
they again urged him to retire from the service and come | 
home. | 

Nikolai, on receipt of this letter, made no attempt to secure | 
either a furlough or permission to go upon the retired list, but | 
wrote his parents that he was very sorry for Natasha’s illness | 
-and breach with her lover, and that he would do all that he 
possibly could in order to fulfil their desires. He wrote a | 
separate letter to Sonya. | 

‘‘ Adored friend of my heart,” he wrote, “nothing except | 
honor could keep me from returning home. But just now, at 
the opening of the campaign, I should consider myself dis- | 
graced not only before all my comrades but in my own eyes 1 
I were to prefer my pleasure to my duty, and my love to my 
conntry. But this is our last separation. Be assured that im- 
mediately after the war, if I am alive and you still love me, I | 





WAR AND PEACE. 55 


.will give up everything and fly to thee to clasp thee forever 
to my ardent heart!” 

He was telling the truth: — it was only the opening of the 
sampaign that detained Nikolai, and prevented him from ful- 
filling his promise by at once returning home and marrying 
Sonya. The autumn at Otradnoye, with its sport, and the 
winter with the Christmas holidays, and his love for Sonya, 
‘had opened up before him a whole perspective of the pleasures 
of a country nobleman, and of domestic contentment, which he 
‘had never known before and which now beckoned to him with 
their sweet allurements. 

“ A glorious wife, children, a good pack of hunting dogs, a 
leash of ten or twenty spirited ‘greyhounds, the management 
lof the estate, the neighbors and service at the elections,” he 
said to himself. But now there was a war in prospect, and he 
was obliged to remain with his regiment. And since this was 
a matter of necessity, Nikolai Rostof, in accordance with his 
character, was content with the life eh he led inthe regi- 
ment, and had the skill to arrange it so that it was agreeable. 

On his return from his furlough, having met with a cordial 
reception from his comrades, Nikolai was sent out to secure 
fresh horses; and he brought back with him from Little 
Russia an excellent remount, such as gladdened his own heart, 
and procured for him the praise of his superiors. During his 
absence, he had been promoted to the rank of rétmistr, or cap- 
tain of cavalry, and, when the regiment was restored to a war 
footing, with increased complement, he was put in charge of 
his former squadron. 

The campaign had begun; the regiment was moved~ into 
Poland, double pay was granted; there were new officers 
present, new men and horses, and, above all, there was an in- 
erease of that excitement and bustle which always accompanies 
the beginning of a campaign; and Rostof, recognizing his ad- 
‘vantageous position in the regiment, gave himself up, heart 
and soul, to the pleasures and interests of military service, ' 
‘although he knew well that, sooner or later, he would have to 
leave it. 

The troops evacuated Vilno for various complicated reasons, 
imperial, political, and tactical. For there, at headquarters, 
‘every step of the retreat was accompanied by a complicated 
play of interests, arguments, and passions. For the hussars of 
‘the Pavlogradsky regiment, all this backward movement, in 
‘the best part of the summer, with abundance of provisions, 
lwas a most simple and enjoyable affair. At headquarters, 


56 WAR AND PEACE. 


men might lose heart, and grow nervous, and indulge in in. 
trigues to their hearts’ content, but in the ranks no one thought 
of asking where or wherefore they were moving. If they in- 
dulged in regrets at the retreat, it was simply because they 
were compelled to leave pleasant quarters and the pretty 
Polish pani. If it occurred to any one that affairs were going 
badly, then, as became a good soldier, the man who had such 
.a thought would try to be jovial, and not think at all of the 
general course of events, but only of what nearest concerned 
himself. 

At first, they were agreeably situated near Vilno, having 
jolly acquaintances among the Polish landed proprietors, and 
constantly expecting the sovereign, and other commanders 
highest in station, to review them, and as constantly being 
disappointed. 

Then came the order to retire to Swienciany, and to destroy 
all provisions that they could not carry away with them. 
Swienciany was memorable to the hussars simply because it was 
the “drunken camp,” as the entire army called it, from their 
stay at the place, and because many complaints had been made 
of the troops having taken unfair advantage of the order 
to forage for provisions, and had included under this head 
horses and carriages and rugs stolen from the Polish pans, 
or nobles. 

Rostof had a vivid remembrance of, Swienciany, because on 
the first day of their arrival at the place he had dismissed a 
quartermaster, and had not been able to do anything with the 
men of his squadron, all of whom were tipsy, having, without 
his knowledge, brought away five barrels of old beer. 

From Swienciany, they had retired farther, and then farther 
still, until they reached the Drissa; and then they had retired 
from the Drissa, all the time approaching the Russian front- 
ier. 

On the 25th of July, the Pavlogradsui, for the first time, took 
part in a serious engagement. 

On the 24th of July, the evening before the engagement, 
there was a severe thunder-storm, with rain and hail. ‘That 
summer of the year 1812 was throughout remarkable for its 
tempests. : 

Two squadrons of the Pavlogradsui had bivouacked in a 
field of rye, already eared, but completely trampled down by 
the horses and cattle. It was raining in torrents, and Rostof, 
with a young officer named Ilyin, who was his protégé, was 
sitting under the shelter of a sort of wigwam, extemporized 


WAR AND PEACE. 57 


‘at short notice. An officer of their regiment, with long mus- 


taches bristling forth and hiding his cheeks, came along, on 
his way to headquarters, and, being overtaken by the rain, 
asked shelter of Rostof. 

“Count, I have just come from headquarters. Have you 
heard of Rayevsky’s great exploit?” And the officer pro- 


eeeded to relate the particulars of the battle of Saltanovo, 
which he had learned about at headquarters. 


Rostof, hunching his shoulders as the water trickled down 
his neck, lighted his pipe, and listened negligently, now and 


‘then giving a look at the young officer Ilyin, who was squeezed 
‘in close to him. This officer, a lad of only sixteen, had not 
been very long connected with the regiment, and was now in 
‘the same relation to Rostof that Rostof had borne toward 
‘Denisof seven years before. Ilyin had taken Rostof as 


his pattern in every respect, and loved him as a woman 
might. 
The officer with the long mustaches, Zdrzhinsky by name, 


‘declared emphatically that the dike at Saltanovo was the Ther- 
‘mopyle of the Russians, and that the exploit performed by 
“General Rayevsky was worthy of the deeds of antiquity. 


Zdrzhinsky described how Rayevsky went out on the dike, 
with his two sons, under a deadly fire, and, side by side with 
them, rushed to the attack. 

Rostof listened to the story, and not only had nothing to 
say in response to the narrator’s enthusiasm, but, on the con- 
trary, had the air of a man ashamed of what is told him, 
although he has no intention of rebutting it. 

Rostof, after the battle of Austerlitz, and the campaign of 


1807, knew, from his own personal experience, that those who 


talk of military deeds always lie; just as he himself had hed 


in relating such things. In the second place, his experience 


had taught him that, in a battle, every event is quite the re- 
verse of what we might imagine and relate it. And, there- 
fore, he took no stock in Zdrzhinsky’s story, and was not pleased 


with Zdrzhinsky himself; who, with his cheeks hidden by 


those long mustaches, had the habit of leaning over close, to 


the face of the person to whom he was talking; and then, 


besides, he was in the way in the narrow hut. - 
Rostof looked at him without speaking. “In the first 
place, there must have been such a crush and confusion on the 


dike which they were charging that even if Rayevsky had 


led his sons upon it, it could not have had any effect upon’ 


_ any one save perhaps a dozen men who were in his immediate 


58 WAR AND PEACE. 


vicinity,” thought Rostof. “The rest could not have seen 
at all how or with whom Rayevsky was rushing upon the 
dike. And then those who did see it could not have been 
very greatly stimulated, because what would they have cared 
for Rayevsky’s affectionate paternal feeling, when the only 
thing of interest to them was the caring for their own 
skin! Then again, the fate of the country in no wise 
depended on whether they took the dike at Saltanovo or 
not, as is supposed to have been the case at Thermopyle. And 
therefore what was the use of risking such a sacrifice? And, 
then, why should he have exposed his children in the affair ? | 
I should not have exposed my brother Petya to it, no, nor 
even this Ilyin here, though he is no relation to me — but a | 
good fellow all the same —but I should have tried to put | 
them safe out of harm’s way somewhere,” pursued Rostof, in 
his thoughts, all the while listening to Zdrzhinsky. But he 
did not speak his thoughts aloud; in regard to this also he 
had learned wisdom by experience. He knew that this story 
redounded to the glory of our arms, and therefore it was re- 
quisite to make believe that he had no doubt of it. And so 
he did. 

“Well, there’s one thing, I can’t stand this,” exclaimed 
Ilyin, perceiving that Rostof was not pleased with Zdrzhin- 
sky’s chatter; “my stockings and my shirt are wet through, 
and itis running under me here. I am going in search of | 
shelter. It seems to me it is slacking up.” 

lyin went out and Zdrzhinsky mounted and rode off. 

At the end of five minutes Ilyin, slopping through the mud, 
came hurrying up to the wigwam. 

“Hurrah! Rostof, come on quick! There’s a tavern a 
couple of hundred paces from here, and a lot of our men are 
there already. We can get dry there, and Marie Heinrichovna 
is there too.” 

Marie Heinrichovna was the regimental doctor’s wife, a 
pretty young German girl whom the doctor had married in 
Poland. Hither because the doctor had no means or because 
he did not wish to be separated from his bride during the 
early period of his married life, he took her wherever he 
went in his travels with the hussars, and his jealousy became 
a constant source of amusement and jest among the officers of 
the regiment. | 

Rostof flung his cloak over him, called Lavrushka to follow 
‘with the luggage, and went with Ilyin, ploughing through the 
mud, plodding straight onward amid the now rapidly dimin- 





| 


WAR AND PEACE. 59 


\sshing shower, into the darkness of the evening, occasionally 
dnterrupted by flashes of distant lightning. 
' “ Rostof, where are you?” | 

“ Here I am! what lightning!” was what they said as they 
‘marched along. ; 


CHAPTER XIII. 


, Ar the tavern before which stood the doctor’s kibitka or 

travelling carriage, five officers were already gathered. Marie 

‘Heinrichovna, a plump, light-haired German, in jacket and 

night-cap, was sitting in the front room on a wide bench. 

|Her spouse, the doctor, was asleep behind her. Rostof and 

‘Tlyin, welcomed by acclamations and roars of laughter, walked 
into the room. 

_ “Ke! you have something very jolly going on,” said Rostof, 
with a laugh. 

«“ And what brings you here so late!” 

“You are fine specimens! Look at the way they are stream- 

‘ing! Don’t drown out our parlor floor!” 

“Be careful how you daub Marie Heinrichovna’s dress,” 
eried the voices. 
- Rostof and Ilyin made haste to find a corner where, without 
shocking Marie Heinrichovna’s modesty, they might change 
their wet garments. They had gone behind the partition to 
make the change, but the little room, Which was scarcely 

more than a closet, was entirely filled by three officers, sitting 

on an empty chest, and playing cards by the light of a single 
candle; and nothing would induce them to evacuate the 
place. 3 

Accordingly, Marie Heinrichovna surrendered her petticoat 
to them, and they hung it up in place of a screen; and behind 
this, Rostof and Ilyin, with Lavrushka’s aid, who had brought 
their saddle-bags, exchanged their wet clothing for dry. 

A fire had been started in a broken-down stove. They pro- 
cured a board, laid it across a pair of saddles; covered it with 
a caparison ; the samovar was set up, a bottle-case unpacked, 

and half a bottle of rum got out, and Marie Heinrichovna was 

requested to do the honors; all gathered around her. One 
offered her a clean handkerchief to wipe her lovely little 
hands; another spread his overcoat under her feet, to keep 
them from the dampness; a third hung his cloak in the win- 
dow, to keep away the draught; a fourth waved the flies away 
, from her husband’s face, so that he would not wake up. 


60 WAR AND PEACE. 


“Never mind him,” said Marie Heinrichoyna, smiling tim. 
idly and happily. ‘“ He always sleeps sound and well after he 
has been up all night.” 

“Oh, that is all right, Marie Heinrichovna!” exclaimed the 
officer. ‘ We must take good care of the doctor. All things 
are possible ; and he would have pity on me, if ever he came 
to saw off an arm or a leg for me.’ 

There were only three elasses; the water was so muddy 
that it was impossible to tell whether the tea were too strong 
or too weak; and the samovarchik held only water enough for 
six glasses; but it was all the more fun to take turns, and to 
receive, in order of seniority, each his glass from Marie Hein- 
richovna’s plump little hands, though her short nails were not 
perfectly clean! , 

All the officers seemed to be, and were, in love that evening 
with Marie Heinrichovna. Even the three who had been 
playing cards in the little room made haste to throw up their 
hands, and came out to the samovar, giving way to the common 
feeling of worship for Marie Heinrichovna’s charms. 

Marie Heinrichovna, seeing herself surrounded by these 
brillant and courteous young men, fairly beamed with delight, 
in spite of all her efforts to hide it, and her manifest alarm 
every time her husband, on the bench back of her, moved in 
his sleep. 

There was only one spoon, while there was a superfluity of 
sugar; but, as it was slow in melting, it was decided that she 
should stir each glass of tea in turn. Rostof, having received 
his glass and seasoned it with rum, asked Marie Heinrichovna 
to stir it for him. 

“But you haven’t put the sugar in, have you?” said she, 
constantly smiling, as though all that she said, and all that 
the others said, was as funny as it could be, and concealed 
some deep hidden meaning. 

“No, I haven’t any sugar yet; all it needs is for you to Stir 
it with your little hand.” 

Marie Heinrichoyna consented, and began to look for the 
spoon, which some one had meanwhile appropriated. 

“ Stir it with your dainty little finger, Marie Heinrichoyna,” 
said Rostof. ‘ It will make it all the sweeter!” adh 

“It’s hot!” exclaimed ae Heinrichovna, blushing with 
gratification. | 

Llyin took a pail of water, and, throwing a little rum into it,. 
came to Marie Heinr ichovna, begging her to stir it with her 
finger. 


UY] 





WAR AND PRACE. 61 


« This is my cup,” said he. “Just dip your finger in it, and 
J will drink it all up.” 

When the samovar had been entirely emptied, Rostof took 
a pack of cards, and proposed to play koroli* with Marie 
Heinrichovna. Lots were cast as to who should be first to 
play with her. 

At Rostof’s suggestion, the game was so arranged that the 


one who became “king ” should have the privilege of kissing 
Marie Heinrichovna’s little hand; while he who came out 
- prokhvost, or provost, as they called the loser, should have to 
start the samovar afresh for the doctor, when he awoke. 


“ Well, but supposing Marie Heinrichovna should be king ?” 


asked lyin. 


“She’s our queen anyway. And her word shall be our 
law!” 

The game had hardly begun, before the doctor’s dishevelled 
head appeared behind Marie Heinrichovna. He had been 


awake for some time, and had overheard all that had been 
said; and it was perfectly evident that he found nothing very 


_ jolly, amusing, or diverting in all that had been said and done. 
| His face was glum and sour. He exchanged no greeting with 


the officers, but scratched his head, and asked them to make 
way, so that he could get out. As soon ashe had left the room, 
all the officers burst into a roar of laughter, while Marie Hein- 
richovna blushed till the tears came, and thereby became all 
the more fascinating in the eyes of all those young men. 

On his return from out-of-doors, the doctor told his wife, 
who had now ceased to smile that happy smile, and was looking 
at him in timid expectation of a scolding, that the storm had 
passed, and they must go and camp out in their kibitka, other- 
wise all their effects would be stolen. 

“ But I willsend a soldier to stand on guard — two of them,” 
said Rostof. “What nonsense, doctor! ” 

“T’ll stand guard myself,” said Ilyin. 

“No, gentlemen; you have had your rest, but I have not 
had any sleep for two nights,” said the doctor, and sat down 
gloomily next his wife, to wait for the end of the game. 

As they saw the doctor’s lowering face bent angrily on his 
wife, the officers became more jovial still, and many of them 
could not refrain from bursts of merriment, plausible pretexts 
for which they kept striving to invent. When the doctor went 


* Koroli, Kings, is a South Russian game at cards, somewhat like the 
French games of écarté and triomphe. The winner is called Xorol, king, and 


_ Can make the other pay a forfeit. 


62 WAR AND PEACE. 


out, taking his wife with him, aad ensconced themselves in 
the snug little kibitka for the night, the officers wrapped 
themselves up in their damp cloaks and lay down anywhere in 
the tavern; but it was long before they could go to sleep, 
because of the talk that still went on; some of them recalling 
the doctor’s jealous fear, and the doktorsha’s jollity ; while 
others went out on the steps, and came back to report what 
was going on in the kibitka. 

Several times, Rostof, muffling up his ears, tried to go to 
sleep; but then some one would make a remark, and arouse 
his attention; and again the conversation would go on, and 
again they would break out into nonsensical, merry laughter, 
as though they were children. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Ir was three o’clock in the morning, and no one had caught 
a wink of sleep, when the quartermaster made his appearance 
with the orders to proceed to the little village of Ostrovno. 

Still chattering and laughing as before, the officers made 
haste to get ready ; they again set up the samovar, with the. 
same dirty water. But Rostof, not waiting for tea, started 
off for his squadron. 

It was already growing light; the rain had ceased; the 
clouds were scattering. It was damp and cold especially 
in well-soaked clothes. As they came out of the tavern, 
Rostof and Ilyin looked at the doctor’s leathered kibitka, the 
leathered cover of which, wet with the rain, gleamed in the 
early morning twilight, while the doctor’s long legs protruded 
from under the apron; and, in the interior, among the 
cushions, the doktorsha’s nightcap could be dimly seen, and 
heard the measured breathing, as she slept. 

“Fact, she’s very pretty!” said Rostof to [lyin, who ac 
companied him. 

“ Yes, what a charming woman she is!” replied the other, 
with all the seriousness of sixteen. 

Within half an hour, the squadron was drawn up on the 
road. The command was heard: “To saddle.” The men 
crossed themselves, and proceeded to mount. Rostof, taking: 
. the lead, gave the command, “ Marsch!” and, filing off four 
abreast, the hussars, with the sound of hoofs splashing in the 
pools, the clinking of sabres, and subdued conversation, started: 


WAR AND PEACE. 63 


along the broad road, lined with birch-trees, and following the 
infantry and artillery, which had gone on ahead. 

Scattere.. purplish blue clouds, growing into crimson in the 
east, wero swiftly fleeting before the wind. It was growing 
lighter and lighter. More distinguishable became the crisp 
grass which always grows on country cross-roads ; it was stall 
wet with the evening’s rain. the pendulous foliage of the 
bitches, also dripping with moisture, shook in the wind, and 
tossed aside the sparkling drops. Clearer and clearer grew 
the faces of the soldiers. Rostof rode along with Lyin, who 
was his inseparable companion; they kept to one side of the 
road, which led between a double row of trees. 

_ Rostof, during this campaign, had permitted himself to ride 
a Cossack horse, instead of his regular horse of the line. Be- 
ing both a connoisseur and a huntsman, he had recently 
selected a strong, mettlesome, dun-colored pony, from the Don, 
which no one could think of matching in a race. It was a 
perfect delight for Rostof to ride on this steed. His thoughts 
“now ran on horses, the beauty'of the morning, the doctor’s 
wife, and not once did he let the possibility of serious danger 
occur to him. 7 

In days gone by, Rostof, on approaching an engagement, 
would have felt a pang of dismay; now he experienced not 
the slightest sensation of timidity., He was devoid of all fear, 
not because he was wonted to fire —it is impossible to become 
wonted to danger — but rather because he had learned to con- 
trol his heart in the presence of danger. On going into an 
engagement, he had accustomed himself to think about every- 
thing except the one thing which would have been most 
absorbing of all—the impending peril. In spite of all his 
efforts, in spite of all his self-reproaches for his cowardice, 
during the first term of his service, he had not been able to 
reach this point; but, in the course of years, it had come of 
itself. He rode now with Ilyin, side by side, between the 
birch-trees, occasionally tearing off a leaf from a down-hanging 
branch, occasionally prodding the horse in the groin, occasion- 
ally, not even turning round, handing his exhausted pipe to the 
hussar just behind him, with such a calm and unconcerned ap- 
pearance that one would have thought he was riding for pleasure. 

He felt a pang of pity to look at Ilyin’s excited face, as he 
rode along, talking fast and nervously. He knew from expe- 
rience that painful state of mind at the expectation of danger 
and death, which the young cornet was now experiencing, and 
he knew that nothing but time could cure him, 


64 WAR AND PEACE. 


As soon as the sun came into sight, in the clear strip of sky 
below the clouds, the wind died down, as though it dared not 
mar in the slightest degree the perfect beauty of the summer 
morning after the storm; the drops still fell from the trees, 
but it was now broad daylight —and all was calm and still. 

The sun came up full and round, poised on the horizon, and 
then mounted and disappeared behind a long, narrow cloud. 
But, in the course of a few minutes, it burst forth brighter 
than ever on the upper edge of the cloud, cutting its edge. 

The world was full of ight and brillianey. And _simulta- 
neously with this burst of light, and as though saluting it, 
rang out the heavy booming of cannon at the front. 

Rostof had no time to ponder and make up his mind how 
far distant these cannon-shots were, when an adjutant from 
Count Ostermann-Tolstoi came galloping up from Vitebsk, 
with the order to advance with all speed. 

The squadron outstripped the infantry and artillery, which 
were also hurrying forward, plunged down a hill, and, dashing 
through a village deserted of its inhabitants, galloped up a 
slope at the other side. The horses were all of a lather with 
sweat, the men flushed and breathless. 

“ Halt! Dress ranks,” rang out the command of the division 
leader, at the front. “Guide left! Shagom marsch!” (that 
is, forward at a foot-pace) again rang the command. And the 
hussars rode along the line of the troops toward the left flank 
of the position, and drew rein just behind our uhlans, who 
were in the front rank. At the right stood our infantry, in a 
solid mass: they were the reserves: higher up on the slope 
could be seen in the clear, clear atmosphere, our cannon shin- 
ing in the slanting rays of the bright morning sun, on the very 
horizon. 

Forward, beyond a ravine, were heard our infantry, already 
involved in the action, and merrily exchanging shots with the 
enemy. , 

2ostof’s heart beat high with joy, as he heard these sounds 
which he had not heard for many a long day, and now seemed 
like the notes of the jolliest music. Trap-ta-ta-tap, several 
shots cracked, sometimes together, suddenly, then rapidly, 
one after another. 

The hussars stood for about an hour in oneplace. The can- 
nonade had also begun. Count Ostermann and his suite came 
riding up behind the squadron, and, drawing rein, had a short 
conversation with the commander of the regiment, and then 
rode off toward the cannon at the height, 


WAR AND PRACE. 65 


As soon as Ostermann rode away, the uhlans heard the com- 
mand: “V kolénnu, k atakye stroisya/” (In column: ready to 
charge ! ) 

The infantry in front of them parted their ranks to let the 
cavalry through. The uhlans started away, the pennons on 
their lances waving gayly, and down the slope they dashed at 
a trot, toward the French cavalry, which began to appear at 
the foot of the slope at the left. 

As soon as the uhlans started down the slope, the hussars 
were ordered to move forward and protect the battery on the 
height. While the hussars were stationed in the position 
before occupied by the uhlans, bullets flew high over their 
heads, buzzing and humming through the air. 

These sounds, which had not been heard by Rostof for long 
years, had a more pleasing and stimulating influence than 
the roar of musketry before. Straightening himself up in the 
saddle, he scrutinized the battle-field spread full before his 
eyes from the height where he was stationed, and his whole 
heart followed the uhlans into the charge. 

They had now flown almost down to the French dragoons; 
there was a scene of confusion and collision in the smoke, and, 
at the end of five minutes, the uhlans were being pressed 
back ; not in the same place, indeed, but farther to the left. 
Mixed in with the orange-uniformed uhlans, on their chestnut 
horses, and behind them, in a compact mass, could be seen the 
blue French dragoons, on their gray horses. 


CHAPTER XV. 


Rostor, with his keen huntsman’s eye, was one of the first 
to notice these French dragoons in blue pressing back our 
uhlans. Nearer, nearer, in disorderly masses, came the uhlans, 
and the French dragoons in pursuit of them. ; 

It was plain to all how these men, dwarfed by the distance, 
were jostling each other, driving each other, and brandishing 
their arms and their sabres, at the foot of the hill. 

Rostof looked on at the fight, as though he were present at 
‘some mighty tournament. His instinct told him that if the 
hussars could now add their impetus to that of the uhlans, the 
French dragoons could not stand it; but if the blow was to be 
Struck, it was to be done immediately, on the instant, else it 
would be too late. He glanced around: a captain stationed 

VOL. 3, — 5. 


66 WAR AND PEACE. 


near him had likewise his eyes fixed steadfastly on the cavalry 
contest below. 

“ Andrei Sevastyanuitch!” said Rostof. “We might crush 
them down.” 

“?Twould be a dashing piece of work, but still”? — 

Rostof, not waiting to hear him through, gave spurs to his 
horse, dashed along in front of his squadron, and before he 
had even given the word for the advance, the whole squadron _ 
to a man, experiencing exactly what he had, scoured after him. 

Rostof himself did not know how and why he did this thing. © 
The whole action was as instinctive, as unpremeditated, as _ 
though he were out hunting. He saw that the dragoons — 
were near at hand, that they were galloping forward, in dis- 
orderly ranks. He knew that they would not withstand a | 
sudden attack; he knew that it was the matter of a single | 
moment, which would not return if he let it have the go-by. 
The bullets whizzed and whistled around him so stimulatingly, 
his horse dashed on ahead so hotly, that he could not but 
yield. He plunged the spurs still deeper in his horse’s side, 
shouted his command, and, at that same instant, hearing behind 
him the hoof-clatter of his squadron, breaking into the charge, 
at full trot, he gave his horse his head down the hill, at the 
dragoons. No sooner had they reached the bottom of the 
slope, than their gait changed involuntarily from trot to gal- 
lop, growing ever swifter and swifter in proportion as they 
approached the uhlans and the French dragoons who were 
driving them back. / 

The dragoons were close to them. The foremost, seeing the 
hussars, started to turn; those in the rear paused. Feel- 
ing as though he were galloping to cut off an escaping wolf, 
Rostof, urging his Don pony to his utmost, dashed on toward 
the disconcerted French dragoons. One of the uhlans reined 
in his horse; one, who had been dismounted, threw himself 
on the ground to escape being crushed; a riderless steed 
dashed in among the hussars. Almost all the French dragoons 
were now in full retreat. | 

Rostof, selecting one of them, mounted on a gray steed, 
started in pursuit of him. On the way, he found himself 
rushing at a bush; his good steed, without hesitating, took it 
at a leap; and, almost before Rostof had settled himself in his 
saddle again, he saw that he should’ within a few seconds 
have overtaken the man whom he had selected as his objective 
point. This Frenchman, evidently an officer by his uniform, 
bending forward, was urging on his gray horse, striking him 





WAR AND PEACE. 67 


| with his sabre. A second later, Rostof’s horse hit the other’s 
rear with his chest, almost knocking him sver; and, at the 
same instant, Rostof, not knowing why, raised his sabre and 
struck at the Frenchman. 

The instant he did so, all Rostof’s e:.ger excitement sud- 
denly vanished. The officer fell, not so s1uch from the effect 
of the sabre-stroke, which had only svratched him slightly 
above the elbow, as it was from the collision of the horses, and 

from panic. Rostof pulled up to look for his enemy, and see 
whom he had vanquished. The Frer«h officer of dragoons was 
hopping along, with one foot on the yround and the other en- 
tangled in the stirrup. With his eyes squinting with fear, as 
though he expected each instant to be struck down again, he was 
looking up at Rostof, with an expression of horror. His pale 
face, covered with mud, fair and young, with dimpled chin and 
bright blue eyes, was one not made for the battle-field, not the 
face of an enemy, but a simple home face. . 

Even before Rostof had made up his mind what to do with 
‘him, the officer cried: “Je me rends.” In spite of all his 
efforts, he could not extricate his foot from the stirrup; and 
still, with frightened eyes, he kept gazing at Rostof. Some 
of the hussars, who had come galloping up, freed his foot for 
him, and helped him to mount. The hussars were coming 
back in all directions with dragoons as prisoners: one was 
wounded; but, with his face all covered with blood, would not 
surrender his horse ; another was seated on the crupper of a 
hussar’s horse, with his arm around the man’s waist; a third, 
assisted by a hussar, was clambering upon the horse’s back. 

In front the French infantry were in full retreat, firing as 
they went. 

The hussars swiftly returned to their position with their 
prisoners. Rostof spurred back with the rest, a prey to a 
peculiarly disagreeable feeling which oppressed his heart. A 
certain vague perplexity, which he found it utterly impossible 
to account for, overcame him at the capture of that young offi-° 
cer, and the blow which he had given him. 

Count Ostermann-Tolstoi met the hussars on their return, 
‘Summoned Rostof, and thanked him, saying that he should 
report to the sovereign his gallant exploit, and recommend 
‘him forthe cross of the George. When the summons to Count 
‘Ostermann came, Rostof remembered that the charge had been 
‘made without orders; and he was therefore fully persuaded 
‘that the commander called for him to punish him for his pre- 
|Sumptuous action, Consequently, Ostermann’s flattering words, 


68 WAR AND PEACE. 


and his promise of a reward, ought to have been all the more 
agreeable to Rostof ; but that same vague, disagreeable feeling 
still tortured his mind. 

“ What can it be that troubles me so, I wonder?” he asked 
himself, as he rode away from the interview. “ Ilyin ? No, 
he is safe~and sound. Have I anything to be ashamed. 
of 2? No, nothing of the sort at all.”’— It was an entirely dif- 
ferent feeling, like remorse.— “ Yes, yes, that French officer _ 
with the dimple. And how distinctly I remember hesitating. 
before I struck him.” 

Rostof saw the prisoners about to be conducted away, and 
he galloped up to them, in order to have another look at the 
officer with the dimpled chin. He was sitting, in his foreign» 
uniform, on a hussar’s stallion, and was glancing around un- 
easily. The wound.on his arm was scarcely deserving of the 
name. He gave Rostof a hypocritical smile, and waved his 
hand at him, asa sort of salute. Rostof had still the same 
feeling of awkwardness, and something seemed to weigh on 
his conscience. 

All that day, and the day following, Rostof’s friends and 
comrades noticed that he was — not exactly gloomy or surly, 
but taciturn, thoughtful, and concentrated. He drank, as it 
were, under protest, tried to be alone, and evidently had some- 
thing on his mind. 

Rostof was, all the time, thinking about his brilliant exploit, 
which, much to his amazement, had given him the cross of the 
. George, and had even given him the reputation of being a 
hero; ‘and he found it utterly incomprehensible. 

“And so they are still more afraid of us than we are of 
them!” he said to himself. “Is this all there is of what is 
called heroism ? Did I do that for my country’s sake? And 
wherein was he to blame, with his dimple and his blue eyes ? 
And how frightened he was! He thought I was going to kill 
him! My hand trembled; but still they have given me the 
Georgievsky cross. I don’t understand 1t at all, not at all!” 

But while Nikolai was working over these questions in his 
own mind, and still failed to find any adequate solution of 
what was so confusing to him, the wheel of fortune, as so 
often happens in the military service, had been given a turn 
in his favor. He was promoted after the engagement at 
Ostrovno, and given command of a battalion ; and when 
there was any necessity of employing a brave officer, he was 
given the chance. 


WAR AND PEACE. 69 


CHAPTER XVI. 


On learning of Natasha’s illness, the countess, still very far 
herself from well, and suffering from weakness, went to Mos- 
30w, taking Petya and the whole household; and all the Ros. 
tots left Marya Dmitrievna’s, and went to their own house, 
and settled down in the city for good. 

Natasha’s illness was so serious that, fortunately for her 
happiness, and for the happiness of her relations, the thought 
of all that had been the cause of her illness, — her misconduct, 
and the breach with her betrothed, were relegated to the back- 
ground. She was so ill that it was imyossible to take up the 
consideration of how far she had been blameworthy in the 
matter ; for she had no appetite, and she could not sleep, she 
lost flesh, and had a cough, and was, as the doctors gave 
them to understand, in a decidedly critical state. 

There was nothing else to be thought of than to give her all 
the aid they could devise: the doctors came to see her, both 
singly and in consultation; talked abundantly in French, in 
German, and Latin; criticised one another; prescribed the 
most varied remedies adapted to cure all the diseases 
known -to their science; but it did not occur to one of 
them, simple as it might seem, that the disease from which 
Natasha was suffering might be unknown to them, just 
as every ailment which attacks mortal man is beyond their 
power of understanding: since each mortal man has his own 
listinguishing characteristics, and ~whatever disease he has 
must, necessarily, be peculiar and new, and unknown to medi- 
xine; not a disease of the lungs, of the liver, of the skin, of 
the heart, of the nerves, and so on, as described in works on 
medicine, but an ailment produced from»any one of endless 
somplications connected with diseases of these organs. 

This simple idea could not occur to the doctors (any more 
than it could ever occur to a warlock that his incantations were 
idle) ; because it is their life work to practise medicine, because 
itis their way of earning money; and because they spend the 
best years of their lives at this business. 

_ But the chief reason why‘this thought could not occur to 
the doctors was because they saw that they were unquestiona- 
‘bly of service; and, in deed and truth, they were of service to 
all the Rostof household. They were of service not because 
they made the sick girl swallow drugs, for the most part harm- 


79 WAR AND PEACE. 


ful— though the harmfulness was of little moment, because 
the noxious drugs were given in small quantities, — but they 
were of service, they were needful, they were indispensable — 
and this is the reason that there are, and always will be, 
alleged ‘“curers ” — quacks, homceopaths and allopaths — 
because they satisfied the moral demands of the sick girl, and 
those who loved her. They satisfied that eternal human 
demand for hope and consolation; that demand for sym- 
pathy and activity which a man experiences at a time of 
suffering. 
They satisfied that eternal human demand—noticeable in a 
child in its simplest and most primitive form —to have the 
bruised place rubbed. The child tumbles down, and immedi; 
ately runs to its mother or its nurse to be kissed, and have the 
sore place rubbed, and its pains are alleviated as soon as the 
sore place is rubbed or kissed. The child cannot help beliey- 
ing that those who are stronger and wiser than he must have 
the means of giving him aid for his sufferings. And this hope 
of alleviation and expression of sympathy at the time when 
the mother rubs the bump are a comfort. 
The doctors in Natasha’s case were of service, because. they 
kissed and rubbed the dodo, assuring her that it would go away 
if the coachman would only hurry down to the Arbatskaya 
apothecary shop and get a ruble and.seventy kopeks’ worth of 
powders and pellets in a neat little box, and if the sick girl 
would take these powders, dissolved in boiling water, regularly 
every two hours, not a moment more or a moment less. - 
What would Sonya and the count and the countess have 
done if they had merely looked on without taking any part; 
if there had been no little pellets every two hours, no tepid 
drinks, no chicken cutlets to prepare, and none of all those 
little necessary things prescribed by the doctor, the observance 
of which gave occupation and consolation to the friends ? 
How would the count have borne his beloved daughter’s 
illness if he had not known that it was going to cost him 
some thousands of rubles, and that he would not grudge 
thousands more t> do her any good; if he had not known 
that in case she did not recover speedily, he should not 
grudge still other thousands in taking her abroad, and then 
going to the expense of consultations; if he had not been 
able to tellin all its details how Mctivier and Teller had not 
understood the case, while Friese had and Mudrof had still 
more successfully predicated the disease ? 
What would the countess have done if she could not have 


ee eee 


WAR AND PEACE. 71 


occasionally scolded Natasha because she did not fully con- 
‘form to the doctor’s orders ? 

.~ “You will never get well,” she would say, “if you don’t 
obey the doctor, and if you don’t take your medicine regularly. 
-You must not treat it lightly, because, if you do, it may go 
jinto pneumonia,” the countess would say; and she found a 
great consolation in repeating this one word, which was some- 
‘thing incomprehensible for her and others beside. 

What would Sonya have done if she had not had the joy- 
‘ful consciousness that, during the first part of the time, she 
had not undressed for three nights, so that she might be 
‘ready to carry out to the least detail all the doctor’s prescrip- 
tions; and that even now she lay awake all night, lest she 
should sleep over the hours when it was necessary to adminis- © 
ter the not very hurtful pellets from the little gilt box ? 

_ Even Natasha herself, who, although she declared that no 
medicine could cure her, and that this was all nonsense, could 
not help a feeling of gratification that they were making so 
many sacrifices for her, and so willingly consented to take the 
medicine at the hours prescribed. And likewise she felt glad 
to show by her neglect to carry out the doctor’s orders that 
she did not believe in medicine, and did not value her life. 
_ The doctor came every day, felt of her pulse, looked at her 
tongue, and, paying no attention to her dejected face, laughed 
and joked with her. But then, when he had gone into the 
next room, and the countess hastily followed him, he would 
pull a serious face and shake his head dubiously, saying that, 
though the patient was in a critical state, still he had good 
hopes for the efficacy of the medicine he had just prescribed, 
and that they must wait and see; that the ailment was more 
mental — but — 
. ~The countess, who tried as far as possible to shut her own 
eyes, and the doctor’s, to Natasha’s behavior, thrust the gold 
iplece into his hand, and each time, with a relieved heart, went 
‘back to her little invalid. 
- The symptoms of Natasha’s illness were loss of appetite, sleep- 
jlessness, acough, and aconstant state of apathy. The doctors 
declared that it was impossible for her to dispense with medi- 
(tal treatment, and, consequently, she was kept a prisoner in 
the sultry air of the city. And, during the summer of 1812, 
ithe Rostofs did not go to their country place. 
|_ In spite of the immense quantity of pellets, drops, and pow- 
ders swallowed by Natasha, out of glass jars and gilt boxes, of 
which Madame Schoss, who was a great lover of such things, 





72 WAR AND PEACE. 


had made a large collection, in spite of being deprived of her 
customary life in the country, youth at last got the upper 
hand: Natasha’s sorrow began to disappear under the impres- 
sions of every-day life; it ceased to lie so painfully on her 
heart, it began to appear past and distant, and Natasha’s phy- 
sical health showed signs of improvement. 





CHAPTER XVII. 





NATASHA was more calm, but not more cheerful. She not 
only avoided all the external scenes of gayety, — balls, driv- 
ing, concerts, the theatre; but, even when she laughed, it 
seemed as though the tears were audible back of her laughter. 
She could net sing. As soon as she started to laugh, or 
essayed, when all alone by herself, to sing, the tears choked 
her: tears of repentance, tears of remembrance, of regret, of 
the irrevocable, happy days; tears of vexation that she had 
thus idly wasted her young life, which might have been so 
happy. Laughter and song seemed to her like sacrilege 
toward her sorrow. 

She never once thought of coquetry; and that she kept 
from such a thing was not by any conscious effort of the will. 
She declared, and she felt, that, at this time, all men were for 
her no more than the buffoon Nastasya Ivanovna. An inward 
monitor strenuously interdicted every pleasure. Moreover, 
she showed no interest, as of old, in that girlish round of ex- 
istence, so free of care and full of hope., She recalled more 
frequently, and with keener pain than ‘aught else, those 
autumn months with the hunting, and the “little uncle,’ 
and the holidays with Nikolai at Otradnoye. What would she 
not have given for the return of even a single day of that van. 
ished time! But it was past forever! She had not been mis. 
taken in that presentiment that she had felt at that time that 
that condition of careless freedom and susceptibility to every 
pleasant influence would never more return. But to live was 
a necessity. 

It was a consolation for her to think not that she was 
better, as she had formerly thought, but that she was worse 
vastly worse, than anybody else in the world. But this was< 
little thing. She knew it, and asked herself: “ What mor 
is there?” But there was nothing more in store for her 
There was no further joy in life; and yet life went on. Na 
tasha’s sole idea evidently was not to be a burden to any one 


WAR AND PEACE. 73 


‘and not to interfere with any one, while, for her own personal 
‘gratification, she asked for nothing at all. She kept aloof 
from the other members of the household, and only with her 
brother Petya did she feel at all at ease. She liked to be with 
im more than with the others, and sometimes, when. they 
were alone together, she would laugh. She scarcely ever went 
out of the house, and of those who came to call, there was only 
one man whom she was glad to see, and that was Pierre. 

It could not have been possible for any one to have shown 
more tenderness and discretion, and, at the same time, more 

seriousness, in his treatment of her, than did Count Bezukhoi. 
Natasha unconsciously fell under the spell of this affectionate 
‘tenderness, and, accordingly, she took great delight in his 
‘society. But she was not even thankful to him for the way 
im which he treated her. Nothing that Pierre did of good 
‘seemed to her other than spontaneous. It seemed to her that 
it was so perfectly natural for Pierre to be kind to every one, 
that he deserved no credit for his acts of kindness to her. 
‘Sometimes Natasha noticed his confusion and awkwardness in 
her presence, especially when he was desirous of doing her 
some favor, or when he was apprehensive lest something in 
their talk might suggest disagreeable recollections. She 
noticed this, and ascribed it to his natural kindness and shy- 
ness, which, in her opinion, so far as she knew, must be shown 
to all, just as it was to her. 

Since those ambiguous words, “if he were free, he should, 
on his knees, sue for her heart and her hand,” spoken at a 
Moment of such painful excitement on her part, Pierre had 
never made any allusion whatever to his feelings for Natasha; 
and, as far as she was concerned, it was evident that those 
words, so consoling to her at the time, had had no more mean- 
ing to her than most thoughtless, unconsidered words, spoken 
for the consolation of a heart-broken child. It never entered 
her head that her relations with Pierre might lead to love on 
‘either side — much less on his — or even to that form of ten- 
der, self-acknowledged, poetic friendship between a man and a 
woman, of which she had known several examples; and this, 
not because Pierre was a married man, but because Natasha 
‘was conscious that between him and her, in all its reality, 
existed that barrier of moral obstacles, the absence of which 
‘She had been conscious of in Kuragin. 

__ Toward the end of the mid-summev’s fast * of Saint Peter, 
Agrafena Ivanoyna Bielova, one of the Rostofs’ neighbors at 


* Saint Peter’s day is June 29, 0, S., July 11, N, §, 


74 WAR AND PEACE. 


Otradnoye, came to Moscow to worship at the shrines of the 
saints there. She proposed to Natasha to join in her devo. 
tions, and Natasha gladly entertained the suggestion. Not- 
withstanding the doctor’s prohibition of her going out early in 
the morning, Natasha insisted on preparing for the sacrament, 
and doing so not as it was usually managed at. the Rostofs’, 
by listening to three services in the house, but rather to prepare 
tor it as Agrafena Ivanovna did, that is, taking the whole week, 
without missing a single vespers, mass, or matins. 

The countess was pleased with this zeal of Natasha’s. After 
all the failure of the physicians’ remedies, she hoped in the 
depths of her heart that prayer might prove to be a more pow- 
erful medicament; and though she did it with some apprehen- 
sion, and concealed it from the knowledge of the doctors, 
she yielded to Natasha’s desire, and let her go with Bielova. 

Agrafena Ivanovna came at three o’clock in the morning to 
arouse Natasha; and yet generally she found her already wide 
awake. Natasha was afraid of sleeping over the hour of matins. 
Making hasty ablutions, and humbly dressing in her shabbiest 
gown and an old mantle, shivering with the chill of morning, 
Natasha would venture out into the empty streets, dimly 
lighted by the diaphanous light of early dawn. 

In accordance with the pious Agrafena Ivanovna’s advice, 
Natasha performed her devotions not in her own parish, but 
at a church where, according to her, there was a priest of very 
blameless and austere life. At this church there were always 
very few people. Natasha would take her usual place with 
Bielova before the ikon of the Mother of God, enshrined at 
the back of the choir, at the left; and a new feeling of calm- 
ness came over her before the vast and incomprehensible mys- 
tery, when, at that unprecedentedly early hour of the morning, 
she gazed at the darkened face of the Virgin’s picture, lighted 
by the tapers burning before it, as well as by the morning 
light that came in through the windows, as she listened to 
the sounds of the service, which she tried to follow under- 
standingly. 

When she understood it, her personal feeling entered into 
and tinged the meaning of the prayer; but when she could not 
understand it, it was all the more delicious for her to think. 
that the very desire to comprehend everything was in itself a 
form of pride, that it is impossible to comprehend, and that 
all that is requisite and necessary is to have faith and trust in 
God, who at that moment, she was conscious, reigned in hex’ 
heart. She would cross herself and bow low; and when the 


WAR AND PEACE. mh, 


a 


service was too deep for her comprehension, then only, horror- 
itricken at her own baseness, she would beseech God to par- 
lon her for everything, for everything, and have mercy upon 
ler. 

The prayers which she followed with the most fervor were 
hose expressing remorse. Returning home in the early hours 
4 the morning, when the only men she met were masons going 
0 their work, and dvorniks sweeping the streets, and every- 
jody in all the houses was still asleep, Natasha experienced 
/new sense of the possibility of being purged of her sins, and 
he possibility of a new, pure life and happiness. 

During all that week, while she was leading this new life, 
his feeling grew stronger every day. And the happy thought 
taking the communion — or, as Agrafena, playing on the word, 
alled it, the communication * — seemed to her so majestic that 
seemed to her she should never live till that blessed Sunday. 

But the happy day came, and when N atasha, on this memo- 
able Sunday, returned home in her white muslin dress, from 
ommunion, she, for the first time after many months, felt 
fanquil and not burdened by the thought of living. 

- When the doctor came that day to see Natasha, he ordered 
er to continue taking the last prescription of powders which 

e had begun a fortnight before. 

“Don’t fail to take them morning and evening,” said he, 
vidently feeling honestly satisfied and even elated at the 
lecess of his treatment. “ Only be more regular, please.—Rest 
aite easy, countess,” said the doctor, in a jovial tone, skil- 
ily clutching the gold piece in his plump hands. “She will 
Jon be singing and. enjoying herself. The last medicine has 
2en very, very efficacious. She has already begun to gain.” 
_The countess looked at her finger-nails, and spat t+ as she 
‘turned to the drawing-room with a radiant face. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


Dvurrine the first weeks of J uly, more and more disquieting 
‘mors about the progress of the war began to be circulated 
_ Moscow: much was said about the sovereign’s appeal to his: 
ople, and about the sovereign’s leaving the army and coming 
Moscow. And as the manifesto and summons were not 
ceived in Moscow until the twenty-third of July, exaggerated 
ports about them and about the position of Russia were 


| * Sodbshchitsa, instead of pridbshchitsa. 1 For the omen’s sake. 





a 


76 WAR AND PEACE. ; 


current. It was said that the sovereign was coming because 
the army was in a critical position ; it was said that Smolensk 
had surrendered, that Napoleon had a million men, and that 
only a miracle could save Russia. 

‘he manifesto was received on the twenty-third of July, on 
a Saturday, but as yet it had not been published, and Pierre, 
who was at the Rostofs’, promised to come to dinner the next 
day, Sunday, and bring the manifesto and the proclamation, 
which he would get of Count Rostopchin. 

On that Sunday the Rostofs, as usual, went to mass at the 
private chapel of the Razumovskys. It was a sultry July day. 
Even at ten o’clock, when the Rostofs’ carriage drew up in 
front of the church, the heated atmosphere, the shouts of ped 
lers, the bright, light-colored, summer dresses of the ladies, the 
dust-covered leaves of the trees along the boulevard, the sounds 
of music, and the white trousers of a regiment marching by or 
its way to parade, the rattle of carriages over the pavement, anc 
the dazzling radiance of the July sun, all spoke of that sum 
mer languor and content as well as discontent with the presen’ 
which is always felt with especial keenness on a bright, sultry 
day in the city. 7 

The chapel of the Razumovskys was a gathering-place fo: 
all the élite of Moscow, all the acquaintances of the Rostof 
— for that year very many of the wealthy families who usuall} 
went off to their country estates had remained in town. 

Preceded by a liveried lackey, who cleared a way throug] 
the throng, Natasha, as she walked in with her mother, ove 
heard a young man making a remark about her in a whispe! 
that was too loud. 

«That is the Rostova+the very one!” 

“ How thin she has grown! but still she is pretty.” 

She heard or thought she heard the names of Kuragin an 
Bolkonsky mentioned. This, however, was a common exper 
ence of hers. It always seemed to her that those who looke 
at her immediately began to recall what had happened. 

With pain and sinking at heart, as always was the case in 
throng, Natasha walked on in her lilac silk dress trimmeé 
with black lace, and giving the appearance, as women Can 
easily do, of being calm and dignified, for the very reaso 
that her heart was full of pain and-~shame. She knew the 
she was pretty, and she was not mistaken ; but the knowledg 
did not now give her the same pleasure as before. On th 
contrary, it annoyed her above everything of late, and esp 
cially on that bright hot day in the city. , 


WAR AND PEACE. rad 







“Still another Sunday, still another week gone,” she said to 
iherself, as she remembered for what purpose she was there 
i that day. “And forever the same life that is not life, and 
| the same conditions in which it used to be so easy to live in 
jdays gone by. Iam pretty, I am young, andI know that now 
‘Tam good whereas before I was naughty ; but now I am good 
|) Lknow it,” she said to herself; “but it’s all for nothing that 
the best, best years of my life have gone and are going.” 

She took her place with her mother, and exchanged greet- 
} ings with the acquaintances around her. Out of old habit she 
\moticed the toilets of the ladies; she criticised the tenue of 
one lady who happened to be standing near her, and the 
) indecorous manne in which she hastily crossed herself; then 
) she thought with inward vexation that the others were prob- 
‘ably criticising her just as she was criticising them, and then 
suddenly, as she heard the sounds of the service, she was 
“horror-struck at her depravity; she was horror-struck at the 
| thought that she had again sullied that purity with which she 
had begun the service. 
| A lovely-looking, clean, and venerable priest officiated with 
that honeyed unction which has such a majestic and sanctifying 
jinfluence upon the hearts of worshippers. The “Holy Gate ” 
was closed, the curtain was slowly drawn, a mysterious, sol- 
jemn voice murmured undistinguishable words. Natasha’s 
bosom heaved with tears too deep for comprehension, and she 
‘was agitated by a feeling of joy and tormenting pain. 
' “Teach me what I must do, how to direct my life, how to do 
iright for ever and ever,” she prayed in her heart. 

The deacon came out to the ambon, used his thumb to pull 
his long hair out from under his surplice, and, pressing his 
eross to his heart, began to read in a loud and solemn voice the 
)words of the prayer. 
| “Vet all the people pray unto the Lord!” 

“Let the community, all united, without distinctions of 
tank, but joined together in brotherly love —let us pray,” 
(was Natasha’s thought. 

“For the heavenly peace and the salvation of our souls!” 
“For all the angels and the spirits of all incorporeal exist- 
‘ences, which dwell above us,” prayed Natasha. 

' During the prayer for the army, she remembered her 
‘orother and Denisof. 

During the prayer for those who were travelling on sea or 
om land, she thought of Prince Andrei, and prayed for him, 
md prayed that God would pardon the wrong that she had 
Jone him. 











78 WAR AND PEACE. 


During the prayer for those who love us, she prayed for 
those of her household: her father, her mother, Sonya, and 
now, for the first time, she realized all the wrong that she 


had done them, and felt how deep and strong was her love — 


toward them. 

When the prayer for those who hate us was read, she tried 
to think of her enemies, and those who hated her, in order to 
pray for them. Among her enemies she reckoned her father’s 
creditors, and all those who had dealings with him, and every 
time, at the thoughts of her enemies and those who hated her, 
she remembered Anatol, who had done her such injury, and, 
although he had not hated her, she prayed gladly for him as 
for an enemy. 

It was only during the prayer that she was able to think 
calmly and clearly about Prince Andrei and about Anatol, as 
about men toward whom her feelings had been entirely swal- 
lowed up in her fear and worship of God. 

When the prayer was read for the imperial family, and for 
the Synod, she made a very low bow and crossed herself, with 
the thought that if she could not understand, she at least could 
not doubt, and consequently must love, the directing Synod, 
and pray for it. 

Having finished the liturgy,* the deacon crossed himself on 
the front of his stole, and exclaimed : — 

“Let us give ourselves and our bodies to Christ our God.” 

“Let us give ourselves to God,” repeated Natasha, in her 
own heart. “My God, I give myself up to thy will,” said she 
to herself. “I have no wishes, I have no desires! Teach me 
what to do, how to fulfil thy will! Yea, take me, take me!” 


cried Natasha, in her heart, with touching impatience, forget- 


ting to cross herself, but letting her slender arms drop by her 


side, and as though expecting that instantly some viewless 


Power would take her and bear her up, and free her from her 
sorrows, desires, short-comings, hopes, and faults. 

The countess many times during the service glanced at her 
daughter’s pathetic face and glistening eyes, and besought 
God to give her his aid. | 

Unexpectedly, in the middle of the service, and out of the 
usual order of things, which Natasha knew so well, a diachok 
brought out the wooden stool on which the priest kneels when 
he reads the prayers on Trinity Sunday, and placed it in front 
of the “ Holy Gates.” 

The priest made his appearance in his lilac velvet calotte, 

* The yekteniyd, or liturgical prayer for the Imperial family. 


~ 


*’. 





am. 


WAR AND PEACE. 79 


rubbed his hand over his hair, and with some effort got upon 


his knees. 


All followed his example, looking with perplexity at each 


other. This was the prayer which had only just been received 
from the Synod, the prayer for the salvation of Russia from 


the invasion of her enemies. 
“ Lord God our strength ! God our salvation!” began the 


‘priest, in that clear, undemonstrative, sweet voice, which is 
‘characteristic of the reading of no other clergy except the 
‘Slavonic, and which has such an irresistible effect upon the 
Russian heart. 


** Lord God our Strength ! God our salvation! Protect in thy infinite 


mercy and bounty thy humble people, and charitably hear us and spare 


us and have mercy upon us. The enemy are bringing destruction upon 


thy land, and would fain make the universe a wilderness. Rise thou up 


against him. This lawless inultitude have gathered themselves together 


_to destroy thy inheritance, to lay waste thy holy Jerusalem, thy beloved 


Russia: to desecrate thy temples, to overturn thy altars, and to profane 


our sanctuary. How long, oh, Lord, how long shall sinners triumph ? 


How long shall they be permitted to transgress thy laws ? 

** Sovereign Lord! hear thou us that cry unto thee! By thy might 
strengthen thou our most devout autocrat and ruler, our great sovereign 
the Hinperor Alexander Pavlovitch ! remember his equity and meekness! 
Requite him for his virtues, and let them be the safeguard of us, thy 
beloved Israel. Bless his counsels, his ‘undertakings, and his deeds. 


» Establish by thy alnighty right hand his realn, and grant him victory over 


his enemies, as thou didst to Moses over Amalek, Gideon over Midian, 
and David over Goliath. Protect thou his armies. Uphold with the 
brazen bow the arms of those who have gone forth to battle in thy name, 
and gird them with strength for the war. Take thy sword and thy buck- 
ler, and arise and help us, and put to shame and confusion those who 
have plotted evil against us, so that they may fly before the faces of those 
who trust in thee as chaff is driven before the wind, and give thy angels 
power to confound them and pursue them. May the net come upon them 
without their knowing it, and may the draught of fish which they meant 
to take surround then on all sides, and may they fall under the feet of 
thy slaves, and may they be trampled under the feet of our warriors. 
Oh, Lord! thou art able to save in great things and in small. Thou 
art God, and no man can do aught against thee. 

** God of our fathers! Let thy bounty and thy mercy guard us as from 
everlasting to everlasting. Hide not thy face from us ; let not thy wrath 
be kindled against our iniquities ; but in. the magnitude of thy mercy and 
the abundance of thy grace pardon our lawlessness and our sin. Create 
a clean heart within us, and renew a right spirit in our inner parts ; 
strengthen thou our faith in thee ; inspire hope; kindle true love among 
us; arm us with a single impulse to the righteous defence of the inher- 
itance which thou hast given to us and to our fathers, and let not the 
sceptre of the ungodly decide the destiny of those whom thou hast conse- 
crated, 

‘Oh, Lord, our God, in thee do we put our trust, and our hopes are 
set on thee, Let us not despair of thy mercy, and give a sign, in order 


SO WAR AND PEACE. 


that those who hate us and our orthodox faith may be confounded and 
destroyed, and that all nations may see that thy name is the Lord, 
and we are thy people. Show us thy mercy, oh, Lord, this day, 
and vouchsafe to us thy salvation. Rejoice the heart of thy slaves by thy 
grace; strike our enemies, and crush them under the feet of those that 
believe in thee. For thou art the defence, the succor, and the victory to 
them that trust in thee, and to thee be the ylory —to the Father and to 
the Son and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever 
shall be, world without end. Amen.”’ 


In that condition of rapt excitement to which Natasha had 
attained, this prayer * had a very powerful effect upon her. 
She listened to every word about “the victory of Moses over 
Amalek, of Gideon over Midian, and David over Goliath, and 
the laying waste of thy Jerusalem,” and she prayed to God 
with that tenderness of spirit and melting of the heart which 
she now felt. But she was somewhat confused in her mind as 
to what she should pray God for. With all her heart she 
could join in the petition for a right spirit, for fortifying the 
zeal with faith and hope, and stimulating their love. 

But she could not pray that the enemy might be erushed’ 
under their feet, because only a few moments before her only 
regret was that she had no more of them, so that she might 
pray for them. 

But at the same time she could not doubt the rightfulness 
of the prayer which the kneeling priest had read. She felt in 
her heart a genuine and anxious terror at the thought of the 
punishment which must befall men on account of their sins, 
and especially for her own sins, and she besought God to forgive 
them all, and her as well, and to give them all and her tran- 
quillity and happiness in life. 

And it seemed to her that God heard her prayer. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


From the day when Pierre, as he left the Rostofs’ with 
Natasha’s grateful looks still fresh in his mind, and looked at 
the comet stretched across the sky, and felt that he had made 
a new discovery, the eternally tormenting question as to the 
vanity and folly of all things earthly had ceased to oceupy his 
thoughts. This terrible question, Why? Wherefore ? which 


before had come up before him amid every occupation, haa 


* The effect of this prayer is enhanced in the original by the dignified 
Slavonic, the church language, in which it is couched. 


WAR AND PEACE. | 81 


‘now merged itself for him not into another problem, and not 
into any answer to his question, but into her image. 

Whether he listened or took the lead himself in trivial 
‘conversations, whether he read or heard about the baseness 
and absurdity of men, he no longer felt that sense of horror 
as before; he did not ask himself what caused them to strug- 
igle so, when life was so short and incomprehensible, but he 
recalled how she looked when he saw her the last time, and all 
‘his doubts vanished, not because she had given the answer to 
his questions, but because her image instantly lifted him into 
mother world, serene and full of spiritual activity, where 
‘there could be no question of right or wrong, — the world of 
|beauty and love which alone accounts for life. Whatever 
baseness in life might be brought to his attention, he would 
‘say to himself: — 

“Well, then, let N. N. plunder the government and the 
‘Tsar, and let the government and the Tsar load him with 
honors; but she smiled on me last evening, and asked me 
to come again, and I love her, and no one shall ever know it!” 
And his soul became calm and clear. 
| Pierre continued as before to go into gay society, and drank 
‘heavily, and led the same idle and dissipated life, for the 
‘vteason that at such times as he was not able to spend at the 
‘Rostofs’, there were still many hours every day that he had te 
spend in some manner, and his habits and acquaintances at 
Moscow invariably allured him to this mode of existence, which 
aad such a firm hold upon him. 
But of late, now that the news from the theatre of the war 
»ecame constantly more and more disquieting, and now that 
Natasha’s health had fairly begun to improve, and she ceased 
© arouse in him that former feeling of anxiety and pity, 
1e began to become the prey of a restlessness that was wholly 
neomprehensible, and grew more and more so. He was con- 
jelous that the position in which he found himself could not 
at very long, that some catastrophe was at hand, which was 
lestined to change his whole life, and he impatiently sought 
is find in everything the presages of this imminent catas- 
rophe. 
» One of the brotherhood of Freemasons had called his atten- 
‘ton to the following prophecy concerning Napoleon, which 
vas derived from the revelation of Saint John. In the 
“ighteenth verse of the thirteenth chapter of the Apocalypse 
tis written, “ Here is wisdom. He that hath understanding, 
‘et him count the number of the beast ; for it is the number of a 
VOL, 3. — 6. 













82, WAR AND PEACE. 


man: and his number is six hundred and sixty and six.” And 
the fifth verse of the same chapter says, “ And there was given 
unto him a mouth speaking great things and blasphemies. And 
there was given unto him authority to do his works during forty 
and two months.” ’ 

The letters of the French alphabet when disposed in ac- 
cordance with the Hebrew enumeration, which gives the first 
nine letters the value of units, and the rest that of tens, have 
the following significance : — 


abe defehi} Ek lim np 0:7.) 10 Atlee 


f UL Vee Ye 
123456789 10 2030 40 50 60 7080 90 100 110 120 130 140 150 160 


If the words ?Hmpereur Napoléon are written, letter for 
letter with this cipher, the result is that the sum of 
these letters amounts to six hundred and sixty-six, and that 
therefore Napoleon is the beast described in the Apocalypse. 
Moreover, if you apply to this same alphabetic cipher the 
words Quarante deux, that is the time, forty-two months, 
during which authority was given to the beast to speak great 
things and blaspheme, the sum of these letters according to 
the same scheme will amount to six hundred and sixty-six, 
whence it results that Napoleon’s power was to be allowed to 
last until the year 1812, when he would have reached the age 
of forty-two. . 

Pierre was greatly amazed by this method of divination, 
and he frequently asked himself what could possibly put an 
end to the power of the beast, that is to say, Napoleon; and 
he made use of the same cipher and mode of reckoning, in 
order to find an answer to the question that he had propounded. 
Thus he wrote, as an experiment, /’Hmpereur Alexandre, and 
La nation russe, but the sum of the letters came out either 
greater or less than six hundred and sixty-six. 

One time, while occupying himself with this enumeration, he 
wrote his own name, Comte Pierre Besouhoff;* the sum of 
the figures did not agree. Then changing the spelling, substi- 
tuting z for s, he added the particule “ de,” he added the arti- 
cle “le,” and still he failed to attain the desired result. 

Then it occurred to him that if the answer desired for the 


* In the course of ‘‘ War and Peace,’’ Pierre’s family name appears under 
at least three different forms of spelling: Bezukhoi,—which the translator 
has retained throughout, — Bezukhi, and Bezukhof; the Russian character kh 
corresponds to ch in German, and is often represented in French by 2. It 
may be here remarked also & propos of the ‘‘ particule” de that the French 
and German way of representing titled Russians’ names with a de or a von is 
incorrect; the Russian nobility is dependent upon neither titles nor particles. 


WAR AND PEACE. 83 


“question was included in his name, it would certainly have 
also to include his nationality. He wrote Le Russe Besuhof, 
and, reckoning up the figures, he made six hundred and sev- 
—enty-one. Only tive too much! Five corresponds to e, the 
very same e which was elided in the article before the word 
“Empereur.” Eliding this e, though it was contrary to the 
(tule, Pierre found the wished-for answer, ’ Russe Besuhof, 
equal to six hundred and sixty-six. 
' This discovery excited him. How, by what bond, he was 
united to this mighty event foreshadowed in the Apocalypse 
_he knew not; but not for an instant did he have any doubt of 
the bond. His love for Natasha, the Antichrist, Napoleon’s 
|Mvasion, the comet, six hundred and sixty-six, ’ Hmpereur 
Napoléon, and l’ Russe Besuhof — all taken together, could not 
fail to ripen and burst and bring him forth from that en- 
chanted, do-nothing world of Moscovite habits, in which he 
felt himself a prisoner, and carry him to some mighty exploit 
-and some mighty happiness. 


| Pierre, on the evening before the Sunday when the prayer 
“was read, had promised the Rostofs to bring them from Count 
‘Rostopchin, whose very:good friend he was, the proclamation 
to the Russians and the last news from thearmy. That morn- 
Ing, on his arrival at Count Rostopchin’s, Pierre found a 
courier, who had just come from the army. This courier was 
| an acquaintance of Pierre’s, a regular habitué of the Moscow 
ballrooms. 

“For God’s sake, couldn’t you help me out?” asked the 
‘courier. “I have a whole bagful of letters for friends and 
relatives.” : 

Among these letters was one from Nikolai Rostof to his 
father. Pierre took charge of it. Besides this, Count Rostop- 
(chin gave Pierre a copy of the sovereign’s appeal to Moscow, 
‘which had just come from the press, the last orders to the 
any, and his own “placard.” Glancing over the army 
orders, Pierre found in one of them, which mentioned the 
uames of the killed; wounded, or rewarded, that Nikolai Ros- 
‘tof had been decorated with a “George” of the fourth class 
ou account of his gallantry in the affair at Ostrovno; and in 
the same “ general order,” the nomination of Prince . Andrei 
‘Bolkonsky as commander of a regiment of Jigers. Although 
he had no wish to remind the Rostofs of Bolkonsky, still 
he could not restrain the desire to rejoice their hearts by the 
‘news of the reward granted their son, and so, keeping in his 











84 WAR AND PEACE. 


own possession the proclamation, the “ placard,” and the 
other orders, with which to entertain them during dinner, he 
immediately sent them the printed order and Nikolai’s letter. 
His conversation with Count Rostopehin, whose tone, of 
anxiety and nervousness struck him, his meeting with the 
courier, who had some careless story to tell of things going ill . 
in the army, the rumors of spies found in Moscow, and of a 
paper circulating in the city which declared that Napoleon by 
autumn had promised to occupy both of the Russian capitals, 
the talk about the expected arrival of the sovereign on the 
morrow, —all this gave new strength to that feeling of excite- 
ment and expectation which had not left him since the night 
when the comet had first appeared, and especially since the 
outbreak of the war. 
The notion of entering the active military service had, for 
some time, been much in his mind; and he would assuredly 
have done so if, in the first place, he had not been deterred by 
the fact that he belonged to that Masonic fraternity, to which 
he had bound himself by a solemn pledge, and which preached 
eternal peace and the cessation of war ; and, in the second 
place, because, as he beheld the great numbers of the inhab- 
itants of Moscow who had donned uniforms and were preach- 
ing patriotism, it would have seemed, somehow, ridiculous for 
him to do so. But the chief reason which deterred him from 
carrying out the idea of entering the military service was to 
be found in that obscure conception that he, ? Russe Besuhof, 
who carried with him the number of the Beast, — 666, — was 
destined to take some great part in putting bounds to the 
ower.of the Beast that spoke great things and blasphemies ; 
and that, therefore, he ought not to undertake anything, but 
to await and see what was meant for him to accomplish. 


CHAPTER XX. 


Tue Rostofs, as usual on Sundays, had some of their inti- 
mate friends to dine with them. 

Pierre went early, so as to find them alone. 

Pierre had grown so stout this year that he would have 
seemed monstrous had he not been so tall, so broad-shouldered, 

and so strong, that he carried his weight with evident ease. 

~ Panting, and muttering something to himself, he hurried 
upstairs. His coachman no longer thought of asking him 
whether he should wait for him. He knew, by this time, that 


WAR AND PEACE. 85 


/when the count was at the Rostofs’, he would stay till mid- 
night. The Rostofs’ lackeys cheerfully hastened forward to 
take his cloak, and receive his hat and cane. Pierre, from 
club habit, left his cane and hat in the ante-room. 

The first person whom he saw was Natasha. Even before 
he had caught sight of her, and while he was taking off his 
\eloak in the ante-room, he heard her singing solfeggios ix 
the music-room. 

_ He knew that she had not sung a note since her illness, and, 
| therefore, the sounds of her voice surprised and delighted him. 
‘He gently opened the door, and saw Natasha in the lilac- 
‘colored dress, in which she had been to mass, pacing up and 
jdown the room and singing. She was walking with her back 
toward him when he opened the door, but when she turned 
‘short about, and recognized his stout, amazed face, she blushed 
‘and came swiftly toward him. 
| “T want to get into the habit of singing again,” said she. 

“Jt is quite an undertaking,” she added, as though to excuse 

herself. 
_ “ And it is.splendid !” 

“How glad I am that you have come! I am so happy to- 
day,” she cried with something of that old vivacity, which 
‘Pierre had so long missed in her. “ You know Nicolas has 
received the Georgievsky cross. I am so proud of him!” 

( “ Certainly: I sent you the ‘order of the day.’ Well, I will 
not interrupt you,” he added, “but V’ll go into the drawing- 
“room.” 

‘Natasha called him back :— 

: “Count, tell me, is it wrong in me to be singing?” she 
‘asked, with a blush, but looking inquiringly into Pierre’s face, 
without dropping her eyes. 

“No! why ?—On the contrary — But why did you ask 
me?” . 

__ “Tam sure I don’t know,” replied Natasha, quickly; “ but 
I did not wish to do anything that you would not approve. I 
-have such perfect confidence in you! You don’t know what 
you are to me, how much you have done for me!” She spoke 
rapidly, and noticed not how Pierre reddened at these words. 
““T saw that he —I mean Bolkonsky ” — she spoke this name 
in a hurried whisper — “ was mentioned in the same order, so 
then he is serving in Russiaagain. Whatdo youthink ?” she 
asked, still speaking rapidly, evidently in haste to finish what 
she had to say, lest she should not have the strength necessary 
ito do so— “ Will he ever forgive me? Will he not always 














86 7 WAR AND PEACE. 


bear me ill will? What do you think about it? What de 
you think about it?” 

“ «T think,” Pierre began, — “I think he has nothing to for- 
give. If I were in his place’ — : 

By the force of recollection, Pierre was, in an instant, carried 
back, in his imagination, to that moment when, in order to 
comfort her, he had said that if he were the best man in the | 
world, and free, he would, on his knees, ask for her hand; and 
now the same feeling of pity, tenderness, and love, seized 
upon him, and the same words were on his lips. But she did 
not give him time to say them. 

«Yes, you, you,” said she with a peculiar solemnity, repeat- 
ing and dwelling on the pronoun —* you—that is another 
thing. I know no man who is kinder, nobler, better; and 
there could not be. If it had not been for you then, and 
now too, I don’t know what would have become of me, for” — 
the tears suddenly filled her eyes; she turned around, hid 
her face behind her music, and began to sing her scales, and 
walk up and down the room once more. . 

At this moment, Petya came running in from the drawing- 
room. Petya was now a handsome, ruddy lad of fifteen, with 
thick, red lips, and the image of Natasha. He was preparing 
for the university, but lately he and his comrade, Obolyensky, 
had secretly resolved that they would enter the hussars. 

He sprang forward to his namesake, in order to speak with 
him about a matter of importance. He had been begging him 
to find out whether he could be admitted to the hussars. Pierre 
went into the drawing-room, not heeding the lad. Petya gave 
his arm a twitch, in order to attract his attention. | 

“ Now tell me, Piotr Kiriluitch, for Heaven’s sake, how is 
my business getting on? Is there any hope for us?” asked 
Petya. 

“Oh, yes, your business. The hussars, is it? I will in- 
quire about it; I will inquire about it, I will this very day.” 

“Well now, mon cher, have you brought the manifesto ? ” 


asked the old count. “The ‘little countess’ was at mass at 
the Razumovskys’ and heard the new prayer. Very fine, they 
‘say ! 9? 


“Yes, I have brought it,” replied Pierre. “The sovereign 
will be here to-morrow. -A special meeting of the nobility has 
been called, and they say there is to be a levy of ten out of 
every thousand. And I congratulate you!” 

«Yes, yes, glory to God. Now tell me what is the news 
from the army ?” | 


WAR AND PEACE. 87 


“Ours are still retreating. They are at Smolensk by this 
time, so they say,” replied Pierre. 

“My God! My God!” exclaimed the count. “Where is 
the manifesto ? ” 

“The proclamation ? Oh, yes!” 

Pierre began to search in all his pockets for the papers, but 
sould not find them. While still rummaging through his 
pockets, he kissed the countess’s hand, who, at that moment, 
game in, and he looked around uneasily, evidently expecting 
bo see Natasha, who had ceased to sing, but had not as yet 
rejoined the others. 
| “ Ma parole, | don’t know what I have done with them!’ 
he exclaimed. 

“ Well, you’re always losing things,” exclaimed the countess. 
_ Natasha came in with a softened, agitated expression of 
sountenance, and sat down, looking at Pierre, without speak- 
ing. As soon as she appeared, Pierre’s face, till then dark- 
ened with a frown, grew bright, and though he was still 
searching for the papers, he kept looking at her. 
| “By Heavens !* I must have left them at home. I will go 
aiter them. Most certainly ” — 

_ “ But you will be late to dinner.” 

“Akh! and my coachman has gone, too!” 

‘Sonya, however, who had gone into the ante-room to look 
for the missing papers, found them in Pierre’s hat, where he 
fad carefully stuck them under the lining. Pierre wanted to 
tead them immediately. 

. “No, not till after dinner,” said the old count, evidently 
unticipating the greatest treat in this reading, 

- At dinner, during which they drank the health of the new 

might of St. George in champagne, Shinshin related all the 
yossip of the town: about the illness of the old Princess of 

aruzia, and how Métivier had disappeared from Moscow, and 
10w some German had been arrested and brought to Rostop- 

‘hin, and represented to be a shampinion.f Count Rostopchin 

jad himself told the story, and how Rostopchin had com- 

manded them to let the shampinion go, assuring the people 

shat he was not a shampinion, but simply a German toad- 

stool ! 

They'll catch it! they’ll catch it!” said the count; “I 

‘ave been telling the countess that she mustn’t talk French so 
much. It is not the time to do it now.” 

8 Yer Bogu. 

' { French champignon, a mushroom.— Slang term, meaning a Frenchman 


t 


88 WAR AND PEACE. 


“ And have you heard ?” proceeded Shinshin. “ Prince Gu 
litsuin has taken a Russian tutor —to teach him Russian — 
il commence a devenir dangereux de parler frangais dans les 
rues.” | 

“ Well, Count Piotr Kiriluitch, if they are going to mobilize 
the landwehr, you’ll have to get on horseback, won’t you ?” 
asked the old count, addressing Pierre. 

Pierre was taciturn and thoughtful all dinner-time. As 
though not comprehending, he gazed at the old count when 
thus addressed. 

“Yes, yes, about the war,” said he. “No! what kind of a 
soldier should I be? But, after all, how strange everything 
is! how strange! J! can’t understand it myself. I don’t 
know; my tastes are so far from being military, but as things 
are now no one can tell what he may do.” 

After dinner the count seated himself comfortably in his 
chair, and, with a grave face, asked Sonya, who was an accom- 
plished reader, to read. 

“To Moscow our chief capital : 

“The enemy has come with overwhelming force to invade 
the boundaries of Russia. He is here to destroy our beloved 
fatherland,” read Sonya, in her clear voice. The count 
listened with his eyes shut, sighing heavily at certain pas- 
sages. 

Natasha, with strained attention, sat looking inquiringly now 
at her father and now at Pierre. 

Pierre was conscious of her glance fastened upon him, and 
strove not to look round. The countess shook her head 
sternly and disapprovingly at each enthusiastic expression 
contained in the manifesto, for everything made her see that 
the danger threatening her son would not soon pass by. 

Shinshin, with his lips formed to a satiric smile, was evi- 
dently making ready to turn into ridicule whatever first gave 
him a good opportunity : whether Sonya’s reading, or what the 
count should say, or even the proclamation itself, if that 
offered him a suitable pretext. 

Having read about the perils threatening Russia, the hopes 
which the sovereign placed in Moscow, and especially in its 
illustrious nobility, Sonya, with a trembling voice, which was 
caused principally by the fact that they were following her 
so closely, read the following words : — 

“We shall not be slow to take our place amidst our people 
in this capital, and in other cities of our empire, so as to iead 
in deliberations and to take the direction of all our troops, not 


WAR AND PEACE. 89 


‘only those which are at the present time blocking the way of 
‘the foe, but also those that are gathering to cause his defeat 
‘wherever he may show himself. And may the destruction in 
which he thinks to involve us re-act upon his own head, and 
‘may Europe, delivered from servitude, magnify the name of 
‘Russia !” 

_ “That’s the talk!” cried the count, opening his moist eyes, 
and several times catching his breath with a noise as though 
a bottle of strong-smelling salts had been put to his nose: he 
went on to say, “Only say the word, sire, and we will sacri- 
fice everything without a regret !” 

| Shinshin had no time to utter the little joke which he had 
ready at the expense of the count’s patriotism *before Natasha 
‘Sprang up from her place and ran to her father. 

“ How lovely he is —this papa of mine!” she exclaimed, 
giving him a kiss; and then she glanced at Pierre again with 
the same unconscious coquetry which had come back to her 
together with her animation. 
~ “What a little patriotka * she is!” cried Shinshin. 
| “Not a patriotka at all, but simply” — began Natasha, 
offended. “ You turn everything into ridicule, but this is no 
laughing matter” — 

“QLaughing matter!” exclaimed the count. “Let him 
only say the word, and we will all follow— we are not Ger- 
mans or ” — 

“And did you notice,” said Pierre, “that it spoke about 
leliberations ? ” 

“ Well, whatever he is here’ for” — 

At that moment Petya, to whom no one had been paying 
My attention, came up to his father, and, all flushed, said, in 
‘ihat voice of his, which was now breaking, and was sometimes 
pass and sometimes treble, “ Now, then, pAapenka, my mind is 
perfectly made up — and, mémenka, too, if you please — I tel! 
rou both my mind is made up: you must let me go into the 
alitary service, because I cannot —and that’s the end of 
; = 

The countess raised her eyes in dismay, and clasped her 
wands, and, turning severely to her husband, said, “ Just think 
vhat he has said! ” 
| But the count instantly recovered from his emotion. 

“Well, well!” said he. “A fine soldier you are! A truce 
0 such folly! You must study!” 

» “It is not folly, papenka. Fedya Obolyensky is younger 


: * The feminine of patriot, 





















90 WAR AND PEACE. 


than I am, and he is going; but, even if he weren’t, I could 
never think of studying now when ” — | 

Petya hesitated, and flushed so that the sweat stood out on 
his forehead, but still finished, — “When the country is m 
danger.” 

“There! there! enough of this nonsense ! ” — 

“But you yourself just said that we would sacrifice every- 
thing !” 

“Petya! I tell you hold your tongue!” cried the count, 
glancing at his wife, who had turned white, and was gazing 
with fixed eyes at her youngest son. 

“But I tell you — and here is Piotr Kirillovitch will speak 
about it” — ° 

«And I tell you it is all rubbish! the milk isn’t dry on 
your lips yet; and here you are wanting to go into the army! 
Nonsense, I tell you!” and the count, gathering up the 
papers, which he evidently intended to read over again in his 
cabinet before going to bed, started to leave the room. 

“ Piotr Kirillovitch, come and have a smoke.” 

Pierre was in a state of confusion and uncertainty. Na- 
tasha’s unnaturally brilliant and animated eyes fixed upon 
him steadily rather than affectionately had brought him into 
this state. 

“No, I think I will go home.” | 

“What ? Go home? I thought you were going to spend 
the evening with us. And, besides, we don’t see so much of 
you as we did. And this girl of mine,” said the count, gayly 
indicating Natasha, “is merry only when you are here.” 

“Yes, but I had forgotten something. I must certainly go 
home. — Some business,” said Pierre, hastily. 

“Well, then, good-by,” * said the count, and he left the 
room. 

“Why must you go? Why are you so out of spirits? 
What is it?” asked Natasha, looking inquiringly into Pierre’s 
eyes. | 

“ Because I love thee!” was what was on his lips to say, 
but he did not say it; he reddened till the tears came, an 
dropped his eyes. 

“Because it is better for me not to be here so much — 
because — No, simply because I have some business.” 

“What isit? No! Tell me,” Natasha began resolutely 
but suddenly stopped. The two looked at each other in dis 
may and confusion. He tried to smile, but it was a van 


* Do svidanya, like au revoir, auf wiedersehen. 





WAR AND PEACE. 91 


ttempt: his smile expressed his suffering; and he kissed her 
iand without speaking, and left the house. 

Pierre solemnly made up his mind not to visit at the Ros- 
ofs’ any more. 


CHAPTER XXI. 
6 

_Perva, after the decided repulse which he had received, 
vent to his room and there, apart from every one, wept bitterly. 
(ll pretended, however, not to remark his red eyes, when he 
ame down to tea, silent and gloomy. 
On the following day, the sovereign arrived. Several of 
he Rostofs’ household serfs asked permission to go and see 
he tsar. 
That morning it took Petya a long time to dress, comb his 
air, and arrange his collar, so as to make it look as full-grown 
1en wore theirs. He stood scowling before the mirror, mak- 
ag gestures, lifting his shoulders, and, at last, saying nothing 
Dany one, he put on his cap and left the house by the back 
oor, so as not to be observed. 

Petya had made up his mind to go straight to the place 
there the sovereign would be, and’ to give a perfectly 
waightforward explanation to one of the chamberlains — he 
apposed the sovereign was always surrounded by chamber- 
ins —and tell him that he, Count Rostof, in spite of his 
outh, wished to serve his country, that his youth could not 
8 an obstacle in the way of devotion, and that he was ready — 
Petya, by the time he was all dressed, was well fortified with 
ne words which he should say to the chamberlain. 

Petya relied for the success of his application to the sover- 
gn on the very fact that he was a mere child— he thought 
ren that they would all be amazed at his youth — and, at the 
me time, by the arrangement of his-nice little collar, and 
te combing of his hair, and his slow and dignified gait, he 
as anxious to give the impression of being a full-grown man. 
But the farther he went, and the more he-was involved in 
le throngs and throngs of people gathering around the Kreml, 
te more he forgot to keep up that appearance of dignity and 
oderation which marks the full-grown man. 

As he approached the Kreml, he had a hard struggle to keep 
om being jostled ; and this he did by putting on a decidedly 

Teatening face, and resolutely applying his elbows to Oppos- 
gtibs. But at Trinity Gate, in spite of all his resolution, the 


99 WAR AND PEACE. 


people, who evidently had no idea what patriotic object brought | 
him to the Kreml, crushed him up against the wall in such a way | 
‘hat he had to make a virtue of the necessity, and pause, while 
through the gateway rolled the equipages, thundering by under | 
the vaulted arch. \ 

Near Petya stood a peasant woman and a lackey, two mer- | 
chants, and a retired soldier. After waiting some time at the | 
Gate, Petya determined not to wait until all the carriages had | 
passed, but to push farther on in advance of the others; and 
he began to work his elbows vigorously ; but the peasant | 
woman, who stood next him, and was the first to feel the appli- | 
cation of his elbows, screamed at him angrily, — | 

“Here, my little bdrchuk,* what are you poking me for ?| 
Don’t you see every one is standing still? Where are you| 
trying to get to?” 

«“'That’s a game more than one can work,” said the lackey, | 
and also vigorously plying his elbows, he sent Petya into the | 
‘ll-smelling corner of the gateway. | 

Petya wiped the sweat from his face with his hands, and | 
tried to straighten up his collar, which had collapsed with the | 
moisture — that collar which, when he had left home, so well 
satisfied him with the effect of maturity that it gave him. He| 
felt that he now was in an unpresentable state, and he was 
afraid that if he went to the chamberlain in such @ 
plight, he would not be allowed. to approach the sovereign.) 
But to put himself to rights, or to get from where he was to] 
another place, was an impossibility, owing tothe throng. A| 
general, who happened to be passing at that moment, was am 
acquaintance of the Rostofs. It occurred to Petya to shout 
to him for help; but he came to the conclusion that that would 
not be compatible with manliness. | 

After all the equipages had passed, the throng burst through, 
and carried Petya along with it into the square, which was! 
also full of the populace. Not the square alone, but the slopes 
and the housetops, every available place, was full of people. 
As soon as Petya got fairly into the square, the sounds of the 
bells filling all the Kreml, and the joyous shouts of the people, 
made themselves manifest to his ears. 

At one time there was more room on the square, but sud4 
denly every head was bared, and the whole mass of people 
rushed forward. Petya was so crushed that he could hardly 
breathe, and still the acclamations rent the air: Hurrah! hu: 


* Bdrchenok, bdrchuk, is the popular diminutive of bdritch, that is to say| 
the son of a barin, or nobleman, gentleman. | 





WAR AND PEACE. 93 


tah! hurrah! Petya got upon his tiptoes, pushed and pinched, 
but still he could see nothing except the people around him. 

All faces wore one and the same expression of emotion and 
‘enthusiasm. One woman, a merchant’s wife, standing near 
Petya, sobbed, and the tears streamed from her eyes, — 

“Father! angel! batyushka!” she cried, rubbing the tears 
away with her fingers. 

_ The huzzas resounded on every side. 
' The throng, for a single instant, stood still in one place ; 
then it rushed onward again. 

Petya, entirely forgetting himself, set his teeth together 

like a wild beast, and, with his eyes starting from his head, 
plunged forward, using his elbows, and shouting “Hurrah” at 
the top of his voice, as though he were ready and willing that 
moment to kill himself and every one else; while on every 
side of him there were ever the same wild faces uttering the 
same huzzas. 
_ “So, then, that’s the kind of a man the sovereign is!” 
thought Petya. “No, it would be impossible for me to 
deliver my petition in person; it would be quite too auda- 
cous.” 

Nevertheless, he still struggled desperately forward, and, 
just beyond the backs in front of him, he could see an empty 
Space, with a lane covered with red cloth; but at this instant 
the throng ebbed back; the police in front were driving them 
away from the path of the procession, which they were incom- 
noding ; the sovereign was on his way from the palace to the 
Uspiensky Cathedral, and Petya unexpectedly received such a 
dlow in the ribs, and was so erushed, that suddenly every- 
ihing grew confused before his eyes, and he lost conscious- 
1€SS. 

When he came to himself, some strange priest, — appar- 
wntly a diachék, —in a well-worn, blue eassock, and with a 
‘Ong mane of gray hair, was supporting him with one arm, 
id with the other defending him from the pressure of the 
‘hrong. 

_ “You have crushed a young nobleman !” * cried the diachék. 
‘Look out, there ! Easy !— You have crushed him! You 
ave crushed him !” 

- The sovereign entered the Uspiensky Cathedral. The crowd 
gain thinned out a little, and the priest took Petya, pale and 
iardly able to breathe, to the Tsar-pushka, or King of Guns. 
Jeveral individuals had pity on Petya, but then suddenly the 


* Bdrchenok, nobleman’s son. 


94 WAR AND- PEACE. 


throng surged up against him again, and he was already 
involved in the billows of the mob. But those who stood 
nearest to him gave him a helping hand, while others unbut- 
toned his coat, and got him up.to the top of the cannon, and 
reviled some.of those who had abused him so. 

“ Would you crush him to death that way 17” __« What do 
you mean ?” — “ Why, it’s downright murder!” — “See the 
poor fellow, he’s as white as a sheet!” said various voices. 

Petya quickly recovered himself, the color returned to his 
cheek, his pain passed off, and, as a compensation for this 
momentary discomfort, he had his place on the cannon, from 
which he hoped to see the sovereign pass by on his way back. 
Petya no longer even thought of preferring his request. If he 
could only see him, then he should consider himself perfectly 
happy ! 

During the time of the service in the Uspiensky Cathedral, 
which consisted of a Te Deum in honor of the sovereign’s arri- 
val, and a thanksgiving for the conclusion of peace with 
Turkey, the throng thinned out, pedlers of kvas, gingerbread, 
and poppy seeds — which Petya specially affected — made 
their appearance proclaiming their wares, and the ordinary 
chatter of a crowd was heard. 

‘A merchant’s wife was lamenting her torn shawl, and tell- 
ing how dear it had cost her. Another made the remark that 
at the present time all sorts of silk stuffs were costly. The 
diachék, Petya’s rescuér, was disputing with an official as to 
who and who were assisting His Eminence in the service. 
The priest several times repeated the word sobornye,* which 
Petya did not understand. Two young fellows were jesting 
with some servant girls, who were munching nuts. 

All these conversations, especially the jokes with the girls, 
which ordinarily would have been extremely fascinating to 
Petya at his age, now failed entirely to attract his attention. 


He sat on his coign of vantage — the cannon — Just as much 
excited as ever at the thought of his sovereign and of his love 
for him. The coincidence of his feeling of pain and terror 
when they were crushing him, and his feeling of enthusiasm 
still more strengthened in him the consciousness of the im- 
portance of this moment. Suddenly, from the embankment 
were heard the sounds of cannon-shots, — they were fired in 
commemoration of the peace with the Turks, —and the 
throng rushed eagerly toward the embankment to see them 
fire the cannon. 

* A Slavonic word signifying that all the clergy of the cathedral ¢sobon 
assisted. 


WAR AND PEACE. OF 


Petya wanted to go, too, but the priest who had taken the 


young nobleman under his protection would not permit him. 


These guns were still firing when from the Uspiensky Cathe- 
dral came a uumber of officers, generals, and chamberlains ; 
then, more deliberately, came still others; again heads were 
uncovered, and those who had rushed to see “the firing came 


running back. Last of all there emerged from the portal of 
‘the cathedral four men in uniforms and ribbons. “ Hurrah! 
“hurrah!” shouted the throng. 


“Which is he? Which one?” asked Petya, in a tearful 
voice, of those around him, but no one gave him any answer; 


all were too much pre-occupied: and Petya, selecting one of 
rE 
owing to the tears of joy that blinded his eyes, concen- 
trated on him all his enthusiasm — although it happened not 


these four personages, which he had some difficulty in doing, 


to be the monarch !—and shouted “Hurrah” in a frenzied 
‘yoice, and made up his mind that, the very next day, cost what 


Wt might, he would become a soldier. 


The throng rushed after the sovereign, accompanied him to 


the palace, and then began to disperse. It was already late, 


and Petya had eaten nothing, and the sweat streamed from 
him; still he had no idea of going home yet, and he stood in 
front of the palace with the diminished but still enormous ~ 
throng all through the time that the sovereign was eating his 
dinner, gazing at the windows of the palace, still expecting 
something, and envying the dignitaries who came up to the 
doorway to take part in the dinner, and even the footmen, 
who were serving the tables, and passing swiftly in front of 
the windows. 

During the dinner Valuyef, glancing out of the window, 
remarked to the sovereign, “The people are still hoping to 
have another glimpse of your majesty.” 

When the banquet was over, the sovereign arose, still eating 
the last of a biscuit, and went out on the balcony. The 


‘throng,. Petya in the number, rushed toward the balcony, 


shouting, “ Angel! batyushka! hurrah!” 
“Father!” cried the people, and Petya also, and again the 
‘women and some of the men of weaker mould — Petya among 


the number — wept for joy. 


A pretty good-sized piece of the biscuit, which the sovereign 
‘held in his hand, crumbled and dropped upon the railing of 
‘the balcony, and ‘from the railing to the ground. A coachman 
in a sleeveless coat, standing nearer than any one else, sprang 
‘forward and seized this crumb. Several of the throng flung 


96 WAR AND PEACE. 


themselves on the coachman. The sovereign, perceiving this, 
commanded a plate of biscuits to be handed*to him, and began 
to toss them from the balcony. 


Petya’s eyes were bloodshot; the danger of being crushed | 
to death. again threatened him, but he rushed for the bis- | 
cuits. He knew not why, but his’ happiness depended on | 
having one of those biscuits trom the tsar’s hand, and he was. 
bound he would not give in. He sprang forward and overset 


an old woman who was just grasping a biscuit. But the old 


woman had no idea of considering herself vanquished, although 
she was flat on the ground, for she held the biscuit clutched | 
in her fist, and had not dropped it. Petya knocked it out of | 





her hand with his knee, and seized it, and, as though fearing : 
that he should be too late, he shouted “Hurrah,” with his - 
hoarse voice. | 

The sovereign retired, and after this the larger part of the 
crowd began to separate. ‘I said there’d be something more | 
to see, and so it turned out,” said various voices, joyously, | 
amid the throng. 

Happy as Petya was, it was, nevertheless, a gloomy pros- 
pect for him to go home, and know that all the happiness of 
the day. was done. Instead, therefore, of going home, he left 
the Kreml, and went to find his comrade, Obolyensky, who was | 
also fifteen years old, and who also was bent upon going into’ 
the army. : 

When, at last, he reached his home, he elearly and definitely | 
declared that, if they would not give him their permission, he | 
would run away. And, on the next day, Count Hya Andre- 
yitch, though not fully decided to give his assent, went to learn | 
in what way some place might be found for Petya, where he_ 
would be least exposed to danger. | 


CHAPTER XXII. 


On the morning of the 27th, three days later, a countless 
throng of equipages were drawn up in the vicinity of the Slo- 
bodsky palace. 

The halls were all crowded. In the front room were the 
nobles in their uniforms; in the second room were the mer- 
chants, wearing medals, beards, and blue kaftans. 

There was a bustle and movement in the room where the 
nobles were gathered. Around a great table, over which hung 
& portrait of the sovereign, sat the most distinguished digni- 





WAR AND PEACE. O7 


taries, in high-backed chairs; but the majority of the nobles 
were walking up and down. 

_ All the nobles —the very men whom Pierre was accustomed 
to see every day at the club or at their own homes — were in uni- 
forms, some dating from Catherine’s time, some from Pauls, 
some in the newer-fashioned ones that had come in with Alex- 
ander, some in the ordinary uniform of the Russian nobil- 
ity; and this universality of uniform gave a certain strange 
and fantastic character to these individuals, of such varying 
ages and types, well known as they were to Pierre. Especially 
noticeable were the old men, dull-eyed, toothless, bald, with 
flesh turning to yellow fat, or wrinkled and thin. These, for 
the most part, sat in their places and had nothing to say; and, 
i they walked about and talked, they addressed themselves to 
men their juniors. Likewise, as in the faces of the throng 
which Petya had seen on the Kreml square, so here these 
faces wore a most astounding contrariety of expressions: the 
general expectation of some solemn event, as opposed to what 
usually happened: the party of boston, Petrusha the cook’s 
dinner, the exchange of greetings with Zinaida Dmitrievna 
and things of the sort. 

Pierre, who since early morning had been pinched, into a 
court uniform that was awkward for him, because it was too 
tight in its fit, was present. He was in a high state of excite- 
ment: a meeting extraordinary, not only of the nobility, but 
uso of the merchant class —a legislative assembly, états géné- 
aux — had awakened in him a whole throng of ideas about 
she Contrat social, and the French Revolution — ideas which 
ae had long ago ceased to entertain, but were, nevertheless, 
deeply engraven in his mind. The words of the proclamation 
which said that the sovereign was coming to his capital, for 
ihe purpose of deliberating with his people, confirmed him in 
his opinion. And thus supposing that the important reform 
vhich he had been long waiting to see introduced would now 
de tried, he walked about, looked on, listened to the conversa- 
‘lons, but nowhere found any one expressing the ideas that 
yecupied him. 
| The sovereign’s manifesto was read, arousing great enthusi- 
‘8m; and then the assembly broke up into groups, discussing 
‘fairs. Pierre heard men talking not only about matters of 
Miversal interest, but also about such things as where the 
marshals of the nobility should stand when the sovereign 
‘ame, when the ball should be given to his majesty, whether 
‘he division should be made by districts or taking the whole 
VOL. 3. —7. 


98 WAR AND PEACE. 


government, and other questions of the sort. But as soon as 
the war became a topicof conversation, or the object of calling 
the meeting of the nobility was mentioned, the discussions 
became vague and irresolute. All preferred to listen rather 
than to talk. | 

One middle-aged man of strikingly gallant bearing, and 
wearing the uniform of a retired officer of the navy, was talk- 
ing in one room, and a group was gathered around him. Pierre 
joined it, and began to listen. Count Hya Andreyitch, in his 
Voevode’s kaftan of Catherine’s time, after making his wa 
through the crowd, with a pleasant greeting for every one, also 
approached this same group, and began to listen, as he always 
listened, with his good-natured smile, and nodding his head to 
signify that his sentiments were in accord with the speaker’s. 

The retired naval man spoke very boldly —as could be 
judged by the faces of his listeners, and because certain of 
Pierre’s acquaintances, well known for their submissive and 
gentle natures, turned away from him, or disagreed with what 
he said. Pierre forced his way into the centre of this group, 
and gave good heed, and came to the conclusion that the speaker 
was genuinely liberal, but in a very different sense from what 
Pierre understood by liberality. The naval man spoke in that 
peculiar, ringing, singsong baritone characteristic of the Rus- 
sian nobility, with an agreeable slurring of the 1’s and short- 
ening of consonants —a voice, too, fitted to issue a command. 

“ Suppose the people of Smolensk have offered to raise mili- 
tia for the sov’e’n. Can the Smolenskites lay down the law for 
us? If the ge’m’en of the Muscovite nobil’ty find it neces’y, 
they can show their devotion to their sove’n and emp’r in some 
other way. We haven’t forgotten the calling out of the land- 
wehr in 1807, have we? Only rasc’ly priests’ sons and plun- 
@r’s got any good from it.” 

Count Ilya Andreyitch, with a shadow of a smile, nodded 
his head approvingly. 7 

« And I should like to know if our militia have ever done 
the empire any good? Not the least. They have merely 
ruined our farming int’rests. A levy is much better — for 
the militia man comes back to you neither a soldier nor a 
muzhik, but simply spoiled and good for nothing. The nobles 
don’t grudge their lives; we are perfectly willing to take the 
field ourselves and bring along recruits with us; the sove’n * 
has only to speak the word and we will all die for him,” added 
the orator, growing excited. ? 


* ‘He pronounced Gosudar, gusai.”’ parenthesis in text, 


it 


WAR AND PEACE. 99 


Ilya Andreyitch swallowed down the spittle in his mouth 
with gratification at hearing such sentiments, and nudged 
Pierre, but Pierre also had a strong desire to speak. He 
pushed still farther forward ; he felt that he was excited, but 
he had no idea what should cause him to speak, and as yet he 
had still less idea of what he was going to say. He had just 
opened his mouth to speak when a senator, who had absolutely 
“no teeth at all, but who had a stern, intelligent face, sud- 


denly interrupted Pierre. He had been standing near the 


naval orator. Evidently used to leading in debate, and hold- 
‘ing his own in argument, he spoke in a low but audible 
voice : — ; 

“JT suppose, my dear sir,” said the senator—the words 
sounding thick, owing to his toothless mouth — “I suppose 
‘that we have been summoned here not for the purpose of 
deciding whether at the present moment enlistment of soldiers 
or levies of militia will be most beneficial for the empire, but 
‘we have been summoned here to respond to the proclamation 
‘which the emperor our sovereign has deigned to address to 


us. And the decision of the question which is the more 


advantageous —recruits or militia —we may safely leave to 
his supreme autho ” — 

Pierre suddenly found an outlet for his excitement. He 
was indignant with the senator for taking such a strict and 
‘arrow view of the functions of the nobility. Pierre took a 
step forward and interrupted the senator. He himself knew 
not what he was going to say, but he began hotly, occasionally 
breaking out into French expressions, and when he spoke in 
Russian “talking like a book.” \ 

“Excuse me, your excellency,” he began. Pierre was well 


‘acquainted with this senator, but now he felt that it was iv- 


ecumbent upon him to address him with perfunctory formalty. 
“ Although I cannot agree with the gentleman” — Pierre hesi- 
tated. He wanted to say Mon trés-honorable préopinant — “with 
the gentleman — que je n’ai pas Vhonneur de connaitre — still 
‘Tsuppose that the nobility have been called together now not 
alone to express their sympathy and enthusiasm, but likewise 
‘to decide on the measures by which we may aid the father- 
Jand. I suppose,” said he, growing still more animated, “I 
‘suppose that the sovereign himself would have been sorry if 
he saw in us nothing but owners of peasants whom we should 
give him as meat for —as chair a canon — but rather as co— 
“co—counsellors ” — 
_ Several moved away from this group as they noticed the 


100 WAR AND PEACE. 


senator’s scornful smile and the excitement under whick 
Pierre was laboring; only Ilya Andreyitch was content with 
Pierre’s deliverance, just as he had been with the naval man’s 
speech and the senator’s, and, as a general rule, with the last 
one which he ever happened to hear. 

“I suppose that before we decide these questions,” pursued 
Pierre, “we ought to ask the sovereign, we ought most re- 
spectfully to ask his majesty to give us a full and definite 
account of how many troops we have, in what condition they 
are, and then” — ‘ 

But Pierre was not allowed to finish his sentence; he was 
attacked from three sides at once. More violently than by 
any one else he was assailed by an acquaintance of his of very 
long standing, always well disposed to him and frequently his 
partner at boston, Stepan Stepdnovitch Adraksin. Stepan 
Stepdnovitch was in uniform, and either it was the uniform or 
some other reason that made Pierre see himself opposed by 
an entirely different man from what he had ever known. 
Stepan Stepanovitch, with an expression of senile wrath sud- 
denly flushing his face, screamed out at Pierre : — 

“In the first place I would have you understand that we 
have no right to ask the sovereign any such thing, and in the 
second place even if the Russian nobility had such a right, 
even then the sovereign could not answer us. ‘The movements 
of our troops depend upon those of the enemy —the troops 
increase and decrease ” — 4 

Another man, of medium height, forty years old, whom 
Pierre had seen in days gone by at the Gypsies’ and knew as 
a wretched card player, and who now like the rest had a 
wholly changed aspect in his uniform, interrupted Adraksin: 
— “Yes, and besides it is not the time to criticise,” said the 
voice of this noble, “but we must act; the war is in Russia. 
The enethy are coming to destroy Russia, to desecrate the 
tombs of our sires, to lead into captivity our wives and our 
children.” — The nobleman struck his chest a ringing blow. — 
“Let us all arise, let us all go as one man in defence of our 
bityushka, the tsar!” he cried, wildly rolling his bloodshot 
eyes. 

Several approving voices were heard in the throng. 

“We Russians will never begrudge our lives for the defence 
of the faith, the throne, and the fatherland; but we must re- 
nounce day dreams if we are the true sons of the country, 
Let us show Europe how Russia can defend Russia!” eried a 
nobleman, 


WAR AND PEACE. 101 


’ Pierre wanted to make a reply, but he could not say a word. 
‘de was conscious that even the sound of his voice —inde- 
yendent of the meaning of what he would say —was less 
wdible than the sound of the nobleman’s voice. 

— Llya Andreyitch stood just behind the circle, looking on 
wpprovingly ; several applauded the speaker when he finished, 
‘md shouted, — 


"Hear! Hear!” 

Pierre was anxious to say that while he would be ready to 
sacrifice himself to any extent, either in money or in his 
Deasants, still he should like to know how affairs were situated 
»efore he could help, but he found it impossible to get a word 
\n. Many voices spoke and shouted all at once, so that Ilya 
‘Andreyitch had no chance even to nod his head in assent to 
everything, and the group grew in size, broke asunder, and 
hen formed again swaying and tumultuous, and moved across 
ihe room toward the great table. 

- Not only was Pierre prevented from speaking, but he was 
udely interrupted, assailed, and pushed aside, and treated as 
though he were a common foe. This was not because they 
vere dissatisfied with the sentiments which he expressed, for 
ihey had already forgotten what he had said after the multi 
‘ude of other things ‘spoken since, but what was necessary te 
xcite the throng was some palpable object of love and some 
yalpable object of hatred. Pierre had made himself the lat- 
er. Many orators followed the excited nobleman, and all 
‘poke in the same tone. Many spoke eloquently and with 
originality. 

' The editor of the ee Vyestnik, Glinka,* who was well 
‘mown, and was greeted aed shouts of “The writer! the 
| 1” declared that hell must contend with hell; that he 
iad seen a child smiling at the flashing of lightning and at the 
‘rashing of thunder, but that we should not be like such a 
‘hild as that. 

“No! no! we must not!” was heard approvingly spcken in 
‘he most distant circles. 

The throng drifted up to the great table where sat the sep- 
uagenarian notables, old and gray and bald, in uniforms and 
-ibbons, veterans wWiom Pierre had seen, almost without excep- 
‘ion, at home under jolly circumstances or at the club-house 








* Sergyéi Nikolayevitch Glinka, born at Smolensk 1776, founded the 
tussian Messenger, 1808, which, in 1812, was the very pillar of nationalism; 
ie also, at his own cost, furnished twenty men for the militia; died, 1547 
eaving one hundred and fifty volumes of works, 





102 WAR AND PEACE. 









or playing boston. The throng drew near the table, and still 
the roar of shouting and talk went on. One after the other, 
and sometimes two at once, pressing up against the high-backed 
chairs, the orators spoke their thoughts. Those who stood 1) 
the rear finished saying what any orator had no time to say t¢ 
the end, and filled out the omitted passages. Others, in spit¢ 
of the heat and closeness, racked their brains trying to fin 
some new idea and to give it utterance. Pierre’s friends, th¢ 
aged notables, sat and gazed, now at one, now at the other, an 
the expression of the majority of their faces merely said that 
it was very hot. | 

Pierre, however, felt intensely excited, and a great desir¢ 
came over him to have the meeting understand that he was as 
ready as the rest to be moved and stirred by that which wa: 
expressed more in the sounds of their voices and their looks 
than in the sense of the words they spoke. He had no inten 
tion of renouncing his convictions, but he somehow felt ai 
though he were in the wrong, and he wanted to set himsel: 
right. 

“I merely said that it would be easier for us to make sacri 
fices if we could know what was needed,” he began to say, try 
ing to outshout the rest. 

A little old man who happened to be standing near hin 
looked at him, but was immediately attracted by a shout raise( 
at the other side of the table. 

“Yes, Moscow shall be delivered! She shall be the deliy 
erer!” some one was shouting. 

“He is the enemy of the human race!” cried another. 

“ Allow me to speak ” — 

“Gentlemen, you are crushing me!” — 


CHAPTER XXII. 


At this moment, Count Rostopchin, in a general’s unifory 
and with a broad ribbon across his shoulder, with his prom: 
nent chin and keen eyes, came into the room, and swift), 
passed through the throng of nobles, who made way befor 
him. 

“Our sovereign, the emperor, will be here immediately, 
said Rostopchin. “I have just come from there. I thin 
that in the position in which we find ourselves there is ver 
little room for debate. The sovereign has done us the hon¢ 
of calling us together, and the merchant class,” said Cour 


WAR AND PEACE. 103 


‘ostopchin. “They in there control millions,” —he pointed 
» the hall where the merchants were, — “and it 1s our busi- 
ess to furnish the landwehr, and not to spare ourselves. That 
‘the least that we can do!” 

~The notables, sitting by themselves at the table, held a con- 
iltation. The consultation could hardly be described as sub- 
ued. There was even a melancholy effect produced when, 
fter all the noise and enthusiasm, these senile voices were 
‘eard, one after the other, saying, “I am content,” or, for the 
ake of variety, “That is my opinion,” and the like. 

The secretary of the meeting was bidden to write that the 
Toscovites, in a meeting of the nobility, had unanimously 
asolved to follow the example of Smolensk, and offer a levy 
f ten men out of every thousand, completely armed and 
quipped. 

The gentlemen who had been sitting arose, as though freed 
7om a heavy task, noisily pushed back their chairs, and stirred 
bout the hall so as to stretch their legs, perchance taking the 
tm of some acquaintance, and talking matters over. 

| “The sovereign! the sovereign!” was the cry suddenly 
aouted through the halls, and the whole throng rushed to 
1e entrance. 

Through a broad lane, between a wall of nobles, the sover- 
‘gn entered the hall. All faces expressed a reverent and 
wesome curiosity. Pierre was standing at some little dis- 
‘mee, and could not fully catch all that the sovereign said in 
is address. 

He comprehended only from what he heard that the sover- 
gn spoke about the peril in which the country stood, and the 
ypes which he placed upon the Muscovite nobility. Some 
ve spoke in response to the sovereign’s address, and merely 
mfirmed the resolution which had just before been engrossed. 

“Gentlemen,” said the sovereign’s trembling voice ; a ripple 
* excitement ran through the throng, and then dead silence 
‘igned again, and this time Pierre distinctly heard the sover- 
‘gn’s extremely agreeable voice, affected with genuine emo- 
on, saying, — 

“TJ have never doubted the devotion of the Russian nobility. 

ut this day it has exceeded my expectations. I thank you 

‘the name of the fatherland. Gentlemen, let us act —time 
precious ” — | 

“The sovereign ceased speaking; the throng gathered round 

“m™, and on every side were heard enthusiastic exclamations. . 

'“Yes, precious indeed —the tsar’s word!” said Ilya An 


, 





104 WAR AND PEACE. 


dreyitch, with a sob; he had heard nothing, but put his own 
interpretation on everything. 

The sovereign passed from the hall where the nobles were | 
into that where the merchants were gathered. He remained | 
there about ten minutes. Pierre and several others saw him 
on his way from their hall with tears of emotion in his eyes. 
As was learned afterwards, the sovereign had hardly begun 
his speech to the merchants before the tears had streamed | 
from his eyes, and he had ended it in a voice broken with 
emotion. When Pierre saw him, he was coming out accom: | 
panied by two merchants. One was an acquaintance of Pierre’s | 
——a stout brandy farmer; the other was the city provost, a | 
man with a thin yellow face and a peaked beard. Both of | 
them were in tears. The thin man wept, but the stout brandy 
farmer was sobbing like a child, and kept saying, — 1 

“Take our lives and our all, your majesty!” | 

Pierre at this moment felt no other desire than to prove | 
how little he treasured anything, and that he was ready to 
make any sacrifice. He reproached himself for his speech | 
with its constitutional tendency; he tried to think of some 
means to efface the impression which it had made. Learning | 
that Count Mamonof had offered a regiment, Bezukhoi imme- | 
diately announced to Count Rostopehin that he would give a) 
thousand men and their maintenance. | 

Old Rostof could not refrain from tears when he told his | 
wife what had been done, and he then and there granted| 
Petya’s request, and went himself to see that his name was| 
enrolled. : 7, 

The next day the sovereign took his departure. All the’ 
nobles who had assembled took off their uniforms, once} 
more resumed their ordinary avocations at home and in thew’ 
clubs, and, groaning, gave orders to their overseers in regard to) 
the landwehr levy, and marvelled at what they had done. | 








| PART SECOND. 
CHAPTER L 
tf 


Naponron entered upon the war with Russia because he 
‘had to go to Dresden, had to lose his judgment from excess of 
‘honors, had to put on a Polish uniform, had to feel the stimu- 
Jating impression of a July morning, and had to give way to 
an outburst of fury in the presence of Kurakin and afterwards 
‘of Balashof. 

Alexander refused to hear to any negotiations, because he 
felt that he had been personally insulted. 

| Barclay de Tolly strove to direct the troops in the very best 
‘way, so that he might do his duty and win the renown of 
‘being a great commander. 
* Rostof charged the French because he could not resist the 
remptation to make a dash across an open field. 

And thus acted in exactly the same way, in accordance with 
(heir own natural characteristics, habits, dispositions, and 
‘ums, all the innumerable individuals who took part in this 
war. They had their fears and their vanities, they had their 
snjoyments and their fits of indignation, and they all supposed 
that they knew what they were doing, and that they were 
‘loing it for themselves; but they were in reality the irre- 
sponsible tools of history, and they brought about a work 
‘which they themselves could not realize, but which is plain 
‘for us to see. 

- Such is the inevitable fate of all who take an active part in 

‘ife, and the higher they stand in the social hierarchy the less 
Tee are they. Now, those who took part in the events of the 
year 1812 have long ago passed from the scene ; their personal 
nterests have vanished without leaving a trace, and only the 
ustorical results ot that time are before us. 

Let us now once admit that the armies of Europe. under the 
eadership of Napoleon, had to plunge into the depths’of Rus- 
sia, and there to perish, and all the self-contradictory, sense- 
ess, atrocious deeds of those who took part in this war be- 
‘ome comprehensible for us. | 











105 


106 WAR AND PEACE. 

























Providence obliged all these men, who were each striving 
to attain his own ends, to work together for the accomplish. 
ment of one tremendous result, of which no man — neither 
Napoleon nor Alexander any more than the most insignificant 
participant — had the slightest anticipation. 

It is now plain to us what caused the destruction of the 
French army in the year 1812. No one will attempt to dis- 
pute that the cause of the destruction of Napoleon’s Freneli 
troops was, on the one hand, their plunging into the depths of 
Russia too late in the season, and without sufficient prepara- 
tion; and, on the other hand, the character given to the war 
by the burning of the Russian cities, and the consequent awak 
ening in the Russian people of hatred against the foe. 

But at that time not only had no one any idea of such a 
thing, — though now it seems so evident, — that an army of 
eight hundred thousand men, the best that the world had ever 
seen, and conducted by the greatest of leaders, could only m 
this way have met with its destruction in a collision with a 
army of half its size, inexperienced, and under the lead of mm 
experienced generals; not only no one had any idea of such a 
thing, but, moreover, all the exertions of the Russians wert 
systematically directed toward preventing the only thing that 
could save Russia, and all the exertions of the French, in spite 
of Napoleon’s experience and his so-called military genius 
were directed toward reaching Moscow by the end of th 
summer: in other words, doing the very thing which w 
bound to prove his ruin. 

French authors, in their accounts of the year 1812, are ver 
fond of declaring that Napoleon felt the risk he ran in extend 
ing his line, that he sought to give battle, that his marsha 
advised him to halt at Smolensk. And they bring forwar 
other arguments of the sort, to prove that even then the peri 
of the Russian campaign was foreseen. 

On the other hand, Russian authors are even more fond 0 
declaring that, at the very beginning of the campaign, thi 
scheme was already conceived of decoying Napoleon into th 
depths of Russia, — after the manner of the Scythians, — ant 
some ascribe this scheme to Pfuhl, others to some Frenchma 
others again to Toll, and still others to the Emperor Alexa 
der himself. For their proof, they cite certain memoirs, sug 
gestions, and letters, in which it really happens that allusion 
to some such mode of action can be found. 

But all these allusions, suggesting that what was don 
either by the French or the Russians was the result of calet 


; WAR AND PEACE. 107 


‘tion, are made to look so at the present day simply because 
‘hat actually took place has justified them. 
‘If the event had not taken place, then these allusions would 
jwve been neglected, just as thousands and millions of hints 
id suggestions of entirely opposite character are now forgot- 
in, though they were all the vogue at that time, but, having 
“en found to be incorrect, were therefore relegated to the 
mbo of forgetfulness. 
“The issue of any event whatever is always involved in so 
any hypotheses, that no matter how it really turns some one 
‘ull be found to say, “I told you it would happen so,” entirely 
tgetting that among the numberless hypotheses others were 
‘ade which proved to be perfectly erroneous. 
To suppose that Napoleon foresaw the peril of extending 
's line and that the Russians thought of alluring the enemy 
‘to the depths of their country, evidently belongs to this 
itegory, and it is only by very forced reasoning that his- 
wians can ascribe such divination to Napoleon and such 
‘hemes to the Russian generals. | 

All the facts are absolutely opposed to such hypotheses. 
(The Russians throughout the war not only had no thought or 
‘sire to decoy the French into the depths of the country, but, 
the other hand, everything was done to prevent them from 
‘aking the first advance beyond their borders, and Napoleon 
‘yt only had no fear of extending his line, but he felt a joy 
‘nounting to enthusiasm aft every onward movement, and he 
owed no such eagerness as in his earlier campaigns to give 
‘ttle. 
‘At the very beginning of the campaign our armies are 
‘parated, and our single aim, in which we employ all our 
‘ergies, is to unite them, whereas if it had been our intention 
‘Tetreat and decoy the enemy into following us, there would 
it have been the slightest advantage in making a junction 

the forces. 
‘The emperor is with the army in order to inspire the troops 
| defend the Russian land and not to yield an inch of ground. 
fe enormous fortified camp of the Drissa is established 
‘cording to Pfuhl’s design, and there is no thought of retreat- 
g. The sovereign reproaches the commander-in-chief for 
‘ery backward step. The emperor could never have dreamed 
‘her of the burning of Moscow or the presence of the enemy 
Smolensk, and when the armies are united the sovereign is 
“asperated because Smolensk is taken and burned, and be 
use a general engagement is not delivered under its walls. 












108 WAR AND PEACE. 


Such are the sovereign’s views, but the Russian ge 1erals 
and all the Russian people are still more exasperated at the 
mere suggestion of retreating before the enemy. : 

‘Napoleon, having cut our armies asunder, moves on into the 
interior ofthe country, and allows to pass several opportunt 
ties for giving battle. In August he 1s at Smolensk, and his 
sole thought is how to advance into Russia, although, as we 
see now, this forward movement was certainly to be destruc 
tive to him. 


The facts prove that Napoleon. did not foresee the risk of 


> 


an advance upon Moscow, and that Alexander and the Rus- 
sian generals had no idea at that time of decoying Napoleon, 
but quite the contrary. 








Napoleon’s army was enticed into the heart of the country 
not in accordance with any plan, —for no one had seen even the 
possibility of such a plan, — but in consequence of the compli-+ 
cated play of intrigues, desires, and ambitions of the men who 
took part in this war and had no conception of what was. 
destined to be, or that. it would result in the only salvation. 
of Russia. } 

Everything proceeds in the most unexpected way. Our 
armies are divided at the opening of the campaign. We try 
to unite them with the evident aim of giving battle and check: 
ing the invasion of the enemy, but in trying to effect this 
union our troops avoid battle, because the enemy are stronger, 


and. in our involuntary avoidance of them we form an acute 
angle, and draw the French as far as Smolensk. But it is not: 
enough to say that we give way at an acute angle because the 
French are moving between our two armies ; the angle grows 
still more acute and we retreat still farther because Bagratiomy 
hates Barclay de Tolly,* an unpopular German. Bagration, 
who is his superior officer and the commander of the other 
army, endeavors as far as possible to delay the conjunction, lit 
order not to be under Barclay’s orders. i 

Bagration long delays the union of the two armies — thougli 
this has been the chief object of all the Russian generals, 
and he does so because he imagines that to make this marell 
would endanger his troops and that it is better for him to 
draw off farther to the left and toward the south and harass 
the enemy on the flank and in the rear, and recruit his army 
in the Ukraina. : 










* Barclay de Tolly (1759-1818) was not German, but of the old Scote 
family of Barclay, a branch of which settled in Russia in the seventeent 
century. Se 


WAR AND PEACE. 109 


But this way a mere pretext. He conceived this plan be- 
ause he is anxious not to put himself under the command of 
sarclay, the hated German, whose rank is infericr to his own. 

The emperor is with the army to inspire it, but his presence, 
nd his tergiversation, the tremendous throng of advisers and 
ans paralyze the energy of the army, and it beats a retreat. 
The plan then is to make a stand in the camp at Drissa, but 
uddenly Paulucci, who aims to be commander-in-chief, makes 
uch an impression upon Alexander by his energy, that 
‘fuhl’s whole plan is abandoned, and the task is confided to 
sarclay. But, as Barclay is not able to instil confidence, his 
ower is limited. . 
| The armies are separated; there is no unity, no head: Bar- 
lay is unpopular; but all this confusion, division, and the 
npopularity of the German commander-in-chief produce 
tresolution and the evasion of an encounter with the enemy, 
rhich would have been inevitable if the union of the armies 
ad been accomplished, and if Barclay had not been designated 
‘$s commander-in-chief, while on the other hand the same cir- 
umstances continually increase the feeling against the Ger- 
1ans, and more and more arouse the spirit of patriotism. 

Finally, the sovereign leaves the army under the sole and 
10st reasonable pretext that he is needed at Moscow and 
‘etersburg to stir up the people and incite a national defence. 
id the sovereign’s journey to Moscow triples the strength of 
he Russian troops. 

The truth is, the sovereign leaves the army in order that he 
1ay not interfere with the power of the commander-in-chief, 
nd hopes that more decisive measures will be taken. But 
ae position of the chief of the army grows more and more 
mfused and helpless. Benigsen, the Grand Duke, and a 
‘hole swarm of general-adjutants remain’ in the army to 
‘atch the actions of the commander-in-chief and to stimulate 
im to energetic action; and Barclay, feeling himself still less 
‘ee under the eyes of all these imperial censors, grows stili 
1ore cautious about undertaking any decided operation, and 
arefully avoids a battle. 

Barclay stands on his guard. The tsesareviteh hints at 
‘eason and demands a general attack. Liubomirsky, Bran- 
itsky. Vlotzky, and others of their ilk, add so much to all 
us tumult that Barclay, to rid himself of them, sends the 
olish general-adjutants to Petevsburg with pretended mes- 
‘ges tor the tsar, and enters into an open dispute with 
‘enigsen gad the Grand Duke. | 


110 WAR AND PEACE. 


At last, against the wishes of Bagration, the union of the 
two armies is effected at Smolensk. 

Bagration drives in his carriage to Barclay’s headquarters. 
Barclay puts on his scarf, comes out to meet him, and salutes 
him as his superior in rank. Bagration, not to be outdone in 
magnanimity, places himself under Barclay’s command, in 
spite of his superiority of rank, but though he takes a sub- 
ordinate position he is still more opposed to him. Bagration 
by the sovereign’s express order makes direct reports. He 
writes to Arakcheyef : — 


4 


‘‘ My sovereign’s will be done, but I can never work with the minister 
[Barclay]. For God’s sake send me where you will, give me only a single 
regiment to command, but I cannot stay here. — Headquarters are full of 
Germans, so that it is impossible for a Russian to breathe here, and there 
is no sense in anything. I thought that I was serving the sovereign and 
my country, but I am really serving Barclay. I confess this does not 
suit me.” 


The swarm of Brannitskys, of Winzengerodes, and others 
like them, still further poisons the relations between the two 
chiefs, and united action becomes more and more impossible. 

They get ready to attack the French at Smolensk.. A gen- 
eral is sent to inspect the position. This general, hating Bar- 
clay, instead of obeying orders, goes to one of his friends, a 
corps commander, remains with him all day, and returns at 
night to Barclay, to criticise a field of battle which he has 
not even seen. 

While quarrels and intrigues concerning the battle-field are 
in progress, while we are trying to find the French, because 
we are ignorant of their whereabouts, the French encounter’ 
Nebr division, and approach the very walls of Smo- 
ensk. ' | 

It is necessary to accept an unexpected battle at Smolensk 
in order to save our communications. The battle takes place, 
thousands of men on both sides are killed. 

Contrary to the wishes of the sovereign and the people, 
Smolensk is abandoned. But the inhabitants of Smolensk, 
betrayed by their governor, set fire to the city, and, offering 
this example to other Russian towns, take refuge in Moscow, 
only deploring their losses and kindling hatred against the 
enemy. 

Napoleon advances ; we retreat, and the result is that the 
very measure necessary for defeating Napoleon is employed. 





WAR AND PEACE. 111 


CHAPTER II. 


On the day following his son’s departure, Prince Nikolai 
Andreyitch summoned the Princess Mariya. 

“There, now, are you satisfied?” he demanded. “You 
have involved me in a quarrel with my son! Satisfied ? That 
was what you wanted! Satisfied? This has been painful, 
painful, tome. I am old and feeble, and this was what you 
wished. Well, take your pleasure in it, take your pleasure in 
it!” 

' And after that the Princess Mariya saw no more of her father 
for a whole week. He was ill and did not leave his cabinet. 

To her amazement, the princess noticed that during this ill- 
ness the old prince did not permit even Mademoiselle Bourienne 
to come near him. Only Tikhon was admitted. 

_ At the end of the week, the prince came out and began to 
lead his former life again, occupying himself with special zeal 
im his buildings and garden, but discontinuing all his former 
relations with Mademoiselle Bourienne. His looks and his 
s00lness toward the Princess Mariya seemed to say to her, — 

“Here, you see, you have lied about me, you haveslandered 
ne to Prince Andrei in regard to my relations with this 
renchwoman, and you have made me quarrel with him; but, 
you see, I can get along without you or the Frenchwoman 
rither.” 

One-half of the day the Princess Mariya spent with Niko- 
ushka, attending to his lessons; she herself taught him Rus- 
slan and music, and talked with Dessalles; the remainder of 
‘he day she spent with her books, her old nyanya, and her 
‘God’s people,” who sometimes came to see her clandestinely 
oy the back stairs. 

The Princess Mariya had such thoughts about the war as 
Women generally have regarding war. She trembled for her 
orother, who was in it; she was horror-struck at the cruelty 
which led men to slaughter each other, though she had little 
somprehension of its reality; but she did not appreciate the 
Jignificance of this particular war, which seemed to her ex- 
ietly like the wars that had preceded it. 

She did not realize it, although Dessalles, with whom she 
vas constantly associated, followed its course with passionate 
nterest, and tried to explain what he felt about it; and 
though the “ God’s people” who came to see her brcaght to 


112 WAR AND PEACE. 


her the popular rumors about the invasion of Antichrist ; and 
although Julie, now the Princess Drubetskaya, who had again 
commenced to correspond with her, wrote her patriotic letters 
from Moscow. ; 


‘“T am going to write to you in Russian, — pa Russki, — my dear 
friend.’ wrote Julie, ‘* because I hate all the French, and their language 
likewise. I cannot even bear to hear it spoken. Here in Moscow weare 
all carried away by our enthusiasm for our idolized emperor. 

‘‘ My poor husband is enduring hunger and privations at Jewish taverns; 
but the tidings which I get from him still further excite me. . 


‘You have undoubtedly heard of the heroic action of Rayevsky, who 
embraced his two sons, saying, ‘I will perish with them, but we will 
never yield.’ And, indeed, though the enemy was twice as strong as we 
were, we did not yield. 

‘* We spend our time as best we can: during war, it must be as during 
war. The Princess Alina and Sophie spend whole days with me, and we 
wretched widows of living husbands, while ravelling lint, have good long 
talks; only you, my dear, are absent.” And so on. 


The principal reason why the Princess Mariya did not real. 
ize the whole significance of this war, was that the old prince 
never said a word about it, never mentioned it, and, at dinner, 
often laughed at Dessalles, who would grow eloquent over it. 
The prince’s tone was so calm and firm that the Princess 
Mariya believed in him without question. 

All through the month of July, the old prince was extraor- 
dinarily active and energetic. He set out another new orchard, 
and built a new building for the use of his household serfs. 
The only thing that disquieted the Princess Mariya was that 
he slept very little, and, relinquishing his ordinary habit of 
sleeping in his cabinet, he each day changed his sleeping-room, 
One time he gave orders to have his camp bedstead set up Dt 
the gallery ; then he would try the sofa, or the Voltaire easy 
chair in the drawing-room, and doze without undressing, while 
the lad Petrusha—and not Mademoiselle Bourienne — read 
aloud to him: then, again, he would spend the night in the 
dining-room.* 

Early in August, he received a second letter from Prine¢ 
Andrei. In the first, which came soon after his departure for 
the army, Prince Andrei humbly begged his father’s pardor 
for what he had permitted himself to say to him, and besought 
him to restore. him to favor. The old prince had replied te 
this in an affectionate letter, and it was shortly after that he 
cave up his intimacy with the Frenchwoman. 

Prince Andrei’s second letter, written from near Vitebsk 


* This was a characteristic of Napoleon at St. Helena. ~ 








WAR AND LEACE. 113 


after it had been captured by the French, contained a brief 
aecount of the campaign, with the plan of it sketched out, and 
also his ideas as to the ultimate issue of it. In the same let- 
ter Prince Andrei represented to his father the inconvenience 
of his position so near tothe theatre of the war, in the very line 
‘. march of the armies, and urged him to go to Moscow. 

At dinner that day, hearing Dessalles mentioning the rumor 
ae the French had already reached Vitebsk, the “old prince 
‘remembered his letter from Prince Andrei. 

) “Had a letter from Prince Andrei to-day,” said he. 
“Haven't you read able? 

- “No, mon pére,” replied the princess timidly. She could 
not possibly have read the letter, as she did not even know 
‘that one had been received. 

' “He writes me about this campaign,” said the old prince, 
with that scornful smile which had become habitual with him, 
and which always accompanied any mention of the war then 
in progress. 

. “It must be very interesting,” said Dessalles. “The prince 
‘isin a position to know 7 

“ Ah, very interesting ” interrupted Mademoiselle Bourienne. 
ot @o and fetch it to ‘me,’ said the old prince to Mademoi- 
‘selle Bourienne. “It’s on the little table, you know, under 
the paper-weight.” 

Mademoiselle Bourienne sprang away with eager haste. 

/ “Oh, no,” he eried, BEOWUNS)s “do you go, | Mikhail Ivan- 
aitch.” 

Mikhail Ivanuitch got up and went into the cabinet. But, 
as he did not immediately return with it, the old prince, un- 
easily glancing around, threw down his napkin and went him- 
self. | 

- “He won’t be able to find it; he’ll upset everything.” 

| While he was gone, the Princess Mariya, Dessalles, Mlle. 
-Bourienne, and even Nikolushka silently exchanged glances. 
The old prince came hurrying back, accompanied by Mikhail 
Tyanuitch, and bringing the letter and a plan; but instead of 
letting them be read during ¢ the dinner time he placed them by 
his side. 

Passing into the drawing-room, he handed the letter to the 
Princess Mariya and, spreading out the plan of the new build. 
‘ing, he began to study it, but at the same time commanded the 
Princess Mariya to read the letter aloud. After she had read 
it, she looked inquiringly at her father. He was studying the 
plan, apparently immersed in his thoughts. 


VOL. 3.—8. 


) 








114 WAR AND PEACE. 


“What do yot think about this, prince?” asked Dessalles, 


hazarding the question. 

“J __ 1?” exclaimed the prince, as though being aroused to 
‘some disagreeable reality, but still not taking his eyes from 
the plan. “ 

“It is quite possible that the theatre of the war may be 
approaching us ” — 


“Ha! ha! ha! the theatre of war!” exclaimed the prince. — 


“T have said, and I still say, that the theatre of the war is 


in Poland, and the enemy will never venture to cross the | 


Niemen.” 

Dessalles looked in amazement at the prince, who spoke of 
the Niemen when the enemy was already at the Dnieper; but 
the Princess Mariya, who had forgotten the geographical posi- 
tion of the Niemen, supposed that what her father said was 
correct. 


“ Ag soon as the snow begins to thaw they will be swallowed | 


up in the swamps of Poland. Only they cannot see it,” pur- 
sued the old prince, evidently thinking of the campaign of 
1807, which, as it seemed to him, had not been so long ago. 
“Benigsen ought to have marched into Prussia before this ; 
then the affair would have taken another direction” — §% 
“But, prince,” timidly suggested Dessalles, “Vitebsk is 
mentioned in the letter”? — . 


“Ah! in the letter !— Yes” — involuntarily exclaimed the | 
prince. “Yes—yes”— His face had suddenly assumed a | 
sour expression. He paused fora moment. “Yes, he writes | 





that the French were beaten —near some river — what was | 


it?” 


Dessalles dropped his eyes. “The prince wrote nothing 


about that,” said he in a low tone. 

“Didn’t he, indeed! Well, I certainly did not imagine it!” 

A long silence ensued. 

“Yes—yes— Well, Mikhail Ivanuitch!” he suddenly 
exclaimed, raising his head and pointing at the plan of the 
new building. “Tell me how you propose to change this ” — 
Mikhail Ivanuitch drew up to the table, and the prince, after 
discussing the plan of the new edifice, left the room, casting 
an angry glance on the Princess Mariya and Dessalles. 

The princess noticed Dessalles’s confused and wondering 
look fastened on her father, remarked his silence, and was 
dumfounded at her father having forgotten to take his son’s 
letter from the drawing-room table; but she was afraid 
to speak or to ask Dessalles the cause of his confusion 





WAR AND PEACE. 115 


and silence, and she was afraid even to think what it 
might be. 

In the evening, Mikhail Ivanuitch was sent by the prince 

for his son’s letter, which had been forgotten in the drawing- 

room. The Princess Mariya handed him the letter. And, 
although it was a trying thing for her to do, she permitted 
‘herself to ask him what her father was doing. 

“He is always busy,” replied Mikhail Ivanuitch, with a 
‘polite but sarcastic smile that made the Princess Mariya turn. 
pale. “He is very much interested in the new building. He 
has been reading a little, but just now,” continued Mikhail 
Ivanuitch, lowering his voice, “he 1s at his desk; he must be 

| working over his ‘ will.’ ” 

Latterly, one of the prince’s favorite occupations had been 
to arrange the papers which were to be left after his death, 
and which he called his “ will.” 

“And is he sending Alpatuitch to Smolensk?” asked the 
Princess Mariya. 

_ “He is; he has been waiting for some time.” 


CHAPTER III. 


Wuen Mikhail Ivanuitch returned to the cabinet, he found 
the prince sitting at his open bureau, with his spectacles on 
and his eyes shaded by an abatjour. He was reading by the 
light of a shaded candle and with a peculiarly solemn expres- 
sion, holding very far from his eyes the manuscript — his 
Remarki, he called it — which he wished to have presented to 
the sovereign after his death. 

When Mikhail Ivanuitch came in, the old prince’s eyes were 
filled with tears started by the recollection of the time when 
he had written what he was now reading. He snatched the 
letter from Mikhail Ivanuitch’s hand, thrust it in his pocket, 

replaced the manuscript, and summoned the long-waiting 
Alpatuitch. 

He held a sheet of paper on which was jotted down what he 

wished to be done at Smolensk, and as he paced back and 
forth through the room past the servant standing at the door, 
he delivered his instructions. 
. “First,—do you hear ?—letter-paper like this specimen, 
- gilt- edged — here’s the pattern so as not to make any mis- 
_ take ; — varnish ; — sealing-wax ” — following Mikhail Ivan- 
“uitch’s memorandum. 





116 WAR AND PEACE. 


He paced up and down the room, and kept glancing at the 
memorandum of purchases. | 

“Then be sure to give this letter about the deed to the 
governor in person.” 

Then he laid special stress on getting the bolts for his new 
edifice, which must be of a special pattern invented by him- 
self. Then a folio was wanted for holding his “will.” It 
took more than two hours to charge Alpatuitch with all the 
commissions, and still the prince did not let him go. He sat 
down; tried to think, and, closing his eyes, fell mto a doze. 
Alpatuitch stirred uneasily. 

“Well, get you gone! get you gone! if I need anything 
more I will send for you.” 

Alpatuitch left the room. The prince went to the bureau 
again, glanced into it, touched the papers with his hand, 
closed it again, and, going to his table, sat down to write his 
note to the governor. 

It was already late when, having sealed the letter, he got up. 
He wanted to go to bed, but he knew that he should nof 
sleep, and that the most miserable thoughts would haunt him 
as soon as he lay down. He rang for Tikhon, and went with 
him through the rooms, so as to select the place where to set 
the bed for the night. He went about measuring every corner, 

There was no place that seemed to please him, but anything 
was better than his usual sofa in his cabinet. This divan was_ 
terrible to him, apparently on account of the trying thoughts 
which passed through his mind as he lay upon it. There was 
no place that satisfied him, but he was best of all pleased with 
the corner in the divan-room behind the piano-forte; he had 
never before slept there. 

Tikhon and a man servant brought in the bedstead, and 
began to make the bed. 

“Not that way! Not that way!” cried the prince, and 
with his own hand he pushed it an inch or two farther away 
from the corner, and then nearer again. 

“Well, at last, I have done everything; let me rest,” 
thought the prince, and he commanded Tikhon to undress him 

Painfully scowling at the effort required to take off his 
kaftan and pantaloons, the prince at last got undressed, and 
let himself drop heavily on his bed, and then seemed lost iP 
thought as he gazed scornfully at his yellow, shrivelled legs. 
Thought, however, was absent ; he was merely sluggish about 
undertaking the labor of lifting those same legs and getting 
them into bed. “Okh! what = trial! Okh! why must, the 





WAR AND PEACE. 117 


“end be so slow in coming! Why can’t you leave me. in 
peace ?”’ he said to himself. Screwing up his lips, he, for the 
“twenty-thousandth time, made the effort, and then lay down. 
But he was scarcely on his back before the whole bed sud- 
‘denly began, with slow and regular motion, to rock backward 
and forward, as though it were heavily breathing and tossing. 
This thing happened to him almost every night. He opened 
‘is eyes, which he had just closed. 
“No repose! Curse it!” he exclaimed, full of fury against 
something. “Yes, yes! there must have been something else 
of importance, of very great importance, which I kept till I 
‘should go to bed. Was it the bolts ? No, I told him about 
that. No, it was something that happened in the drawine- 
Toom. The Princess Mariya had some nonsense to repeat. 
Dessalles —that idiot!— made some remark.. There was 
something in my pocket! I can’t remember. Tishka! what 
were we talking about at dinner time ? ” 

_ About Prince Mikhail ” — 

“Hold your tongue !” 

The prince thumped his hand on the table. “Now, I know — 
it was Prince Andrei’s letter. The Princess Mariya read it 
aloud. Dessalles said something about Vitebsk. Now, I will 
read it.” 

He bade Tikhon fetch him the letter from his pocket, and 
‘place a small table near the bed, with his lemonade and a wax 
japer, and, putting on his spectacles, he began toread. There 
only, as he read the letter, in the silence of the night, by the 
‘eeble light of the candle under the green shade, he for the 
irst time for a moment took in its full significance. 

“The French at Vitebsk! in four marches they can reach 
Smolensk; maybe they are there now. Tishka!” Tikhon 
iprang forward. “No matter! Nothing! nothing!” he 
ried. 

He slipped the letter under the candle-stick, and closed his 
“yes. 

And there arose before him the Danube, —a brilliant noon- 
lay, — the rushes, — the Russian camp and himself, a young 

“eneral with not a single wrinkle on his face: hale and hearty, 
‘ay and ruddy, going into Potemkin’s bright-colored tent, and 
‘he burning feeling of hatred against the “ favorite ” stirs in him 
‘ow as violently as it did even then. And he recalls all the 
vords which were spoken at his first interview with Potem- 
in, And his fancy brings up before him again a stout, short 
‘roman. with a fat, sallow face, — matushka-imperatritsa, — 





\ 





| 


: 


118 WAR AND PEACE. 


the little mother empress, — her smile, her words of flattery, 
when she for the first time gave him audience, and he remem- 
bers her face as it appeared on the catafalque, and then the 
quarrel with Zubof, which took place over her coffin, over the 
right to approach her hand. 

“ Akh! would that those old times could return, and that 
the present would all come to an end — soon —soon — that I 
might at last find rest!” | 


CHAPTER IV. 


Luistyva Gorvut, Prince Nikolai Andreyitch Bolkonsky’s 
estate, was situated about sixty versts from Smolensk and 
three versts from the Moscow highway. | 

That evening, while the prince was ceiving Alpatuitch his 
commissions, Dessalles asked for a few moments’ talk with the 
Princess Mariya, and told her that as the prince, her father, 
was not very well, and refused to adopt any measures for theii 
safety, while from Prince Andrei’s letter it was evident that 
to remain at Luisiya Gorui was not unattended with danger, 
he respectfully advised her to send a letter by Alpatuitch tc 
the nachalnik of the government at Smolensk, asking hin 
to let her know the real state of affairs, and the measure 0! 
danger to which Luisiya Gorui was exposed. | 

Dessalles wrote the letter for her to the governor, and she 
signed it, and it was put into Alpatuitch’s hands with stric’ 
injunctions to hand it to the governor, and in case the dange’ 
were urgent to return as soon as possible. 

Having received all his instructions, Alpatuitch, in a white 
beaver hat, —a gift of the prince’s, — with a cudgel, exactl? 
like that carried by the prince, went, escorted by all the ser 
vants, to get into the leather-covered kibitka, to which - 
troika of fat, roan steeds had been attached. 

The duga-bell was tied up, and the little harness bells wer 
stuffed with paper. The prince would not allow bells to b 
used at Luisiya Gorui. But Alpatuitch liked the sounds @ 
them on a long journey. His fellow servants, the zemsk, 
or communal scribe, the house clerk, the pastry cook, al 
the scullery maid, two old women, a young groom, the coac 
man, and a number of other household serfs, accompani 
him. 

His daughter stuffed back of the seat and under it so 
down cushions covered with chintz. His wife’s sister, an ol 





WAR AND PEACE. 119 - 


woman, stealthily thrust in a small bundle. One of the 
3oachmen helped him to get to his place. , 

| “Well, well! woman’s fussiness! Oh! women, women!” 
‘ae exclaimed, puffing and speaking in the same short, hurried 
way as the old prince did; and he took his place in the 
abitka. Having given his last orders to the zemsky in regard 
jo the work, Alpatuitch removed his hat from his bald head 
ind crossed himself thrice — and in this respect he certainly 
lid not imitate the prince. 

_ “Tf anything should — you — you will hurry back, Yakof 
Alpatuitch ; for Christ’s sake, have pity on us!’’ screamed his 
vite, with a covert reference to the rumors of the war and the 
imemy. : 

_ “Oh, women, women! women’s fussiness!” growled Alpa- 
witch to himself, and he rode away, glancing around him at 
he fields, some of which were covered with yellowing rye, 
‘thers with thick crops of oats still green, others where the men 
vere just beginning to do the second ploughing. He rode on, 
idmiring the summer wheat, which gave an unusually abun- 
lant crop that year; then he gazed with delight at the rye- 
ields, where the reapers were already beginning to work, and 
ie made mental calculations as to future sowing and gathering 
‘f£ crops, and wondered if he had forgotten any of the prince’s 
ommissions. 

Having stopped twice on the road to bait his horses, Alpa- 
witch, on the sixteenth of August, reached the city. 

On the way he met and passed wagon trains and detach- 
.ents of troops. As he approached Smolensk, he heard the 
ounds of distant firing, but these reports did not surprise 
im. He was more surprised than at anything else to see, in 
ihe vicinity of the city, tents pitched in the midst of a mag- 
ificent field of oats, which some soldiers were mowing appar- 
ntly for the sake of fodder; this circumstance surprised 
ipatuitch, but it quickly slipped his mind, which was ab- 
orbed in his own business. 

All the interests of Alpatuitch’s life had been for more than 
urty years confined to fulfilling the prince’s wishes, and he 

ad never taken a step outside of this narrow circle. Every- 
ung that did not appertain to carrying out the prince’s 
rections did not interest him, and might be said not even io 
‘ist for Alpatuitch. 

_ Atriving on the evening of August sixteenth at Smolensk, 
Jpatuitch put up at an inn, kept by the dvornik Ferapontof, 
“ross the Dnieper, in the Gachensky suburb, where he had 





- 120 WAR AND PEACE. 


been in the habit of making his headquarters for the past 
thirty years. Ferapontof, thirty years before, had, with the 
connivance of Alpatuitch, bought a piece of woodland of the 
prince, and begun to trade, and now he had a home of his 
own, a tavern, and a grain shop. Ferapontof was a stout, dark- 
complexioned, good-looking muzhik of middle age, with thick 
lips, with a thick nobbed nose, and with knobs over his black, | 
scowling brows, and with a portly belly. | 

Ferapontof was standing at the street door of his shop, in } 
his colored chintz shirt and waistcoat. Catching sight of 
Alpatuitch, he came out to meet him. 

“Welcome, Yakof Alpatuitch. The people are leaving | 
town, and here you are coming to town!” exclaimed the land- | 
lord. 

“What do you mean? Leaving town?” asked Alpatuitch. 

“JT mean what I say. ‘The people are fools. They’re all | 
afraid of a Frenchman !” | 
“Woman’s chatter! woman’s chatter!” grumbled Alpa- | 
tuitch. | 

“ That’s my opinion, Yakof Alpatuitch. I tell ’em there’s | 
orders not to let him in; so, of course, he won't get in. And} 
yet those muzhiks ask three rubles for a horse and cart, | 
That isn’t Christian of ’em!”’ | 

Yakof Alpatuitch paid little attention to what he said. He | 
asked for a samovar and some hay for his horses, and, after 
he had sipped his tea, he went to bed. . 

All night long the troops went tramping by the tavern 
along the street. The next morning Alpatuitch put on his | 
kamzol, which he always wore only in town, and set forth to 
do his errands. The morning was sunny, and at eight o’clock 
it was already hot. “A fine day for the wheat harvest,” 
Alpatuitch said to himself. Beyond the city the sounds of 
firing had been audible since early morning. About eight | 
o’clock a heavy cannonading made itself heard in addition to | 
the musketry. tt 

The streets were crowded with people hurrying to and fro; | 
there were throngs of soldiery ; but, just as usual, izvoshehiks | 
were driving about, merchants were standing at their shop | 
doors, and the morning service was going on in the churches. | 

Alpatuitch did his errands at the shops, at the government | 
offices, at the post-office, and at the governors. At the gov-| 
ernment offices, at the shops, at the post-office, every where, | 
every one was talking of the war and the enemy, who was| 
even now making his descent upon the city. Every one was | 





WAR AND PEACE. 121 


asking every one else what was to be done, and every one 
was trying to re-assure every one else. 

At the governor’s house, Alpatuitch found a great throng of 
people, Cossacks, and a travelling carriage belonging to the 

governor. On the doorstep Yakof Alpatuitch met two of the 
local gentry, one of whom he knew. The nobleman whom he 
knew, a former ispravnik, or district captain of police, was 
‘talking with some heat. . 
“But I tell you this 1s no joke!” he wassaying. “It’s very 
/well fora man who is alone. One can endure to be single and 
poor; but to have thirteen in your family, and your whole 
_property at stake!— What do the authorities amount to if 
‘they let such things come on us? Ekh! they ought to hang 
“such cut-throats ”’ — | 
_ “There, there! calm yourself!” said the other. 
“What difference does it make to me; let them hear! 
Why, we are not dogs!” said the ex-ispravnik, and, looking 
‘round, he caught sight of Alpatuitch. “Ah! Yakof Alpa- 
‘tuitch, what brings you here ?” 
' “On an errand from his illustriousness to the governor,” 
replied Alpatuitch, proudly lifting his head, and placing his 
hand in the breast of his coat — which he always did when he 
remembered the prince. “ He sent me to ascertain the posi- 
‘tion of affairs,” said he. 
“Well, then, ascertain it,” cried the proprietor. ‘Not a 
cart to be had—nothing! There, do you hear that?” he 
exclaimed, calling their attention to the direction in which the 
‘firing could be heard. “That’s the pass they’ve brought us 
to! ruining us all —the cut-throats !” he muttered again, and 
“turned down the steps. 

Alpatuitch shook his head, and went upstairs. In the 
reception room were merchants, women, chinovniks, silently 
‘exchanging glances. The door into the governor’s cabinet was 
opened, and all stood up and crowded forward. Out of the 
'room hurried a chinovnik, exchanged some words with a mer- 

chant, beckoned to a stout chinovnik, with a cross around his 

neck, to follow him, and again disappeared behind the door, 

mee ly avoiding all the glances and questions that followed 
in. 

Alpatuitch pressed forward, and, when the chinovnik came 
‘out again, placing his hand under the breast of his overcoat, he 
‘addressed the official, and handed him the two ietters. 
‘For the Baron Asche, from General-in-Chief Prince Bolkon- 
‘sky,” he said, so solemnly and significantly that the chinoynik 













| 
A 


122 WAR AND PEACE. 


turned round to him and took the letters. At the end of a} 
few moments the governor summoned Alpatuitch, and said to | 
him hurriedly : — | 

“Inform the prince and the princess that I know nothing | 
about it at-all. I have been acting in accordance with supe- || 
rior instructions. — Here!” | 
He gave a paper to Alpatuitch. 

“ However, as the prince is ailing, my advice to him is to | 
go to Moscow. Iam going there myself —immediately. Tell | 
him.” 

But the governor did not finish his sentence; an officer, | 
breathless and covered with sweat came rushing in, and hur- | 
riedly said something in French. An expression of horror | 
crossed the governor’s face. 

“Go,” said he, nodding to Alpatuitch ; and then he began | 
to ply the officer with questions. Pitiful, frightened, helpless | 
glances followed Alpatuitch as he came out of the governor’s | 
cabinet. Involuntarily listening now to the cannonading, con- | 
stantly growing nearer and more violent, Alpatuitch hastened } 
back to the inn. 

The paper which the governor had given him was as fol- | 
lows: — 


‘‘T assure you that the city of Smolensk is not in the slightest danger, | 
and it is entirely unlikely that it will be exposed to any. 1, on the one | 
hand, and Prince Bagration, on the other, shall effect a junction before | 
Smolensk; and this will take place on the 22d instant, and the twe 
armies, with united forces, will defend their fellow-countrymen of the | 
government committed to your charge, until their efforts shall have — 
driven away the foes of the fatherland, or until the last warrior shall | 
have perished from their gallant ranks. You will see from this that you | 
have a perfect right to calm the inhabitants of Smolensk, since any one | 
defended by two such brave armies may well be confident that victory 
will be theirs.’’ (Order of the day, from Barclay de Tolly to Baron | 
Asche, the civil governor of Smolensk, 1812.) | 


The inhabitants were roaming anxiously about the streets. | 

Teams, loaded to repletion with domestic utensils, chairs, | 
clothes-presses, and furniture of every description, were com- | 
ing out of the courtyard-gates of the houses and proceeding | 
along the streets. At the house next Ferapontof’s stood a 
number of teams, and the women were bidding each other | 
good-by, and exchanging parting gossip. The house-dog was 
barking and frisking around the heads of the horses. . 

Alpatuitch, with a brisker gait than he usually took, went | 
into the courtyard and proceeded directly to the barn where his | 
team and horses were. The coachman was asleep: he aroused 





WAR AND PEACE. 123 
um, told him to hitch up, and went into the house. In the 
andlord’s room were heard the wailing of a child, the broken 
obs of a woman, and Ferapontof’s furious, harsh tones. The 
Wook, fluttering about the bar-room like a frightened hen, cried 
is soon as she saw Alpatuitch: “He’s been beating her to 
leath — been beating the missis! He just beat her, and 
lragged her round!” 

What made him do it?” asked Alpatuitch. 

“She begged him to go! Just like a woman! ‘Take us 
way, says she, ‘don’t let ’em kill me and the little ones; 
werybody,’ says she, ‘’s going, and why,’ says she, ‘shouldn’t 
ve gotoo?’ And so he began to beat her. He just threshed 
ner and dragged her, round!” 

Alpatuitch nodded. his head as though he approved, and, 
2ot caring to hear any more about it, went to the room where 
us purchases had been left. It was opposite the landlord’s 
‘amily room. 7 
“You villain, you wretch!” at this moment cried a thin, 
yale woman, with a baby in her arms, and with a torn ker- 
thief on her head, who came rushing out of that room, and 
lew downstairs into the court. 

Ferapontof came out behind her, and when he saw Alpa- 
mitch, he pulled down his waistcoat, smoothed his hair, and 
ollowed Alpatuitch into the room. 

“ And so you are going so soon ?” he asked. 

Not paying any attention to this question, and not looking 
it the landlord, Alpatuitch, after making a bundle of his pur- 
thases, asked how much he should pay for the accommodation. 

“We will settle that by and by. How was it at the gov- 
wrnor’s ?”” asked Ferapontof. “ What was the talk there ?” 

' Alpatuitch replied that the governor had not said anything 
ery decisive to him. 

“How can we possibly get away with our things? Why, 
hey ask seven rubles to go to.Dorogobuzh! And I tell you 
here’s mighty little Christianity about them!” said _ he. 
‘Selivanof made a good thing Thursday, sold some flour to the 
my at nine rubles a sack. Say, will you have some tea?” 
re added. 

_ While the horses were being put to, Alpatuitch and Fera- 
/ontof sipped their tea and talked about the price of wheat, 
‘bout the crops, and the splendid weather for harvest. 

_ “Well, it seems to be calming down a little,” said Ferapon- 
of, getting up after his three cups of tea. “Ours must have 
iad the best of it. They told us they would not let ’em in. 


124 WAR AND PEACE. 


Of course we're strong enough. They say Matvyei Ivanuitch 
Platof drove eighteen thousand of ‘ew nto the Marina t’other 
day and drowned ’em all.” 

‘Alpatuitch picked up his purchases and gave them to the 
eoachman, who came in; then he settled his account with the 
‘andlord. The sound of carriage wheels was heard outside the 
door, the trampling of the horses, and the jingling of bells, as 
the kibitka drove up. It was by this time long into the after: 
noon. One side of the street was in shadow; the other was 
brightly lighted by the sun.  Alpatuitch glanced out of 
the window, and went to the door. Suddenly he heard the 
strange sound of a distant whizzing, and a dull thud, immedi- 
ately followed by the long reverberating roar of a cannon 
which made the windows rattle. | 

Alpatuitch went out into the street; a couple of men were, 
running down toward the bridge. In various directions could 
be heard the whistling and erashing of round shot, and the 
~ bursting of bomb-shells falling into the city. But these sounds 
attracted little attention among the citizens compared with 
the roar of the cannonading heard beyond the city. This was 
the bombardment which Napoleon commanded to be opened 
at five o’clock, from one hundred and thirty cannon. The 
people at first did not realize the significance of this bombard- 
ment. ‘The crash of falling shells and cannon-balls at first — 
wakened only a sort of curiosity. Ferapontof’s wife, who had © 
been steadily wailing and weeping in the barn, dried her tears 
and came out to the gates with her baby in her arms, and 
gazed silently at the people and listened to the noise. 

The cook and the shop-tender came down to the gates. All 
looked with eager curiosity at the projectiles flying over their 
heads. Around the corner came several men, talking with 
great animation. : 

“ What force there was!” one was saying. “Smashed the 
roof and the ceiling all into kindling-wood.” 

“And it ploughed up the ground just like a hog!” said 
another. 

“It was a good shot! Lively work!” said he, with a 
laugh. 

“You had to look out mighty sharp and jump, else ‘twould 
have smeared you!” 

The people gathered round the new-comers. They stopped — 
and told how shots had been falling into a house near them, 
Meantime, other projectiles, round shot, with a not disagreeable 
whistling, and shells, with a swift, melancholy hissing, kept fly, 








WAR AND PEACE. 125 


ing over the heads of the people. But not a single projectile 
fell_near them; all flew over and beyond. Alpatuitch took 
his seat in his kibitka. The landlord was standing at his 
gates. ‘You are showing too much!” he eried to the cook, 
who, with sleeves rolled up above her bare elbows, had gone, 
holding up her red petticoat, down to the corner to hear the 
news. “But it was miraculous,” she was just saying, but 
when she heard the sound of the landlord’s voice she turned 
round and let her petticoat drop. 

Once more, but very near this time, came something with 
a whistling sound, like a bird flying toward the ground; there 
was a flash of fire in the middle of the street, a loud, stunning 
erash, and the street was filled with smoke. 


“You rascal, what did you do that for?” cried the land- 


lord, rushing down to the cook. At the same instant, the 
pitiful screaming of women was heard on various sides; a 
child wailed in terror, and the people gathered in silence with 
pale faces round the cook. Above all other sounds were heard 
the groans and exclamations of the cook. 

_ “Oi-o-okh! my darlings! my poor darlings! Don’t let them 
kill me! My poor darlings!” 

Five minutes later, not a soul was left in the street. The 
200k, whose thigh had been broken by a fragment of the 
bomb, was carried into the kitchen. Alpatuitch, his coach- 
man, and Ferapontof’s wife and children and the hostler, were 
sowering in the cellar, with ears alert. The roar of cannon, 
the whistle of projectiles, and the pitiful groans of the cook, 
which overmastered all else, ceased not for a single instant. 
The landlord’s wife rocked and crooned her infant at one 
moment, and at the next she would ask in a terrified whisper 
of all who came down into the cellar where her husband, who 
had remained in the street, was. 

The shop-tender came down into the cellar, and reported 
that her husband had gone with the crowd to the cathedral to 
get the wonder-working ikon of Smolensk. 

Toward twilight, the cannonade began to grow less violent. 
Aipatuitch went out of the cellar and stood in the doorway. 
The evening sky, which before had been cloudless, was now 
shrouded in smoke. And through this smoke strangely shone 
the sickle of the young moon high in the west. After the 
sessation of the terrible roar of the cannon, silence fell upon 
the city, broken only by what seemed to be a constantly in- 
creasing rumble of hurrying steps, groans, distant shouts, and 
the crackling of flames. The cook’s groaning had ceased. In 


‘ 


126 WAR AND PEACE. 


two different directions, volumes of black smoke arose from 


the conflagrations and spread over the city. Soldiers in vari- | 


ous uniforms, mixed all in together, no longer in orderly ranks, 
but like ants from a demolished ant-hill, came running and 
walking from various directions down the street. It seemed 
to Alpatuitch that some of them were making for Ferapontof’s 
tavern. Alpatuitch went down to the gates. A regiment 


marching in serried ranks and hurrying along blocked the > 


street from side to side. 


“The city is surrendered! Off with you! off with you!” | 


eried an officer who noticed him, and then he turned to his 
soldiers: “I tell you, keep out of the yards,” he cried. 


Alpatuitch went back to the tavern, and, summoning the | 


coachman, bade him start away. Alpatuitch and the coach- 


man were followed by all Ferapontof’s household. When | 


they saw the smoke and the yellow tongues of the fire, which 
now began to shine out in the gathering gloom, the women, till 
now perfectly silent, suddenly unloosed their tongues as they 
looked toward the city, and broke out into what seemed lke 
an echo of the lamentations that were to be heard at the other 
end of the street. Alpatuitch and the coachman, with trem- 
bling hands, straightened the entangled reins and traces under 
the shed. 

As Alpatuitch drove out of the gates, he saw half a score of 
soldiers in Ferapontof’s open shop, with loud discussion, en- 
gaged in filling bags and knapsacks with wheaten flour and 
sunflower seeds. Just at that time, Ferapontof himself hap- 
pened to come into his shop from the street. When he saw 
the soldiers, he started to give them some abuse, but suddenly 
paused, and, clutching his hair, he broke out into laughter that 
was like a lamentation. 

“Take it all, boys. Don’t leave any for those devils,” he 
cried, grasping the bags himself, and helping to fling them out 
into the street. Some of the soldiers, frightened, ran away ; 
others still continued to fill their sacks. Seeing Alpatuitch, 
Ferapontof called to him, — 

“It’s all up with Roosha,” * he shouted. “ Alpatuitch, it’s 
all up with us! I myself helped set the fires. All ruined!” 

Ferapontof started into the courtyard. The passing regi- 
ments so completely blocked the street that Alpatuitch could 
not make his way along, and he had to wait. Ferapontof’s 
wife and family were also seated in their telyega, waiting alse 
for a chance to get away. 

* He calls it Rasseya, instead of Rossiya. 


WAR AND PEACE. 127 


‘It was now well into the evening. The sky was studded 
with stars, and occasionally the young moon gleamed out from 
behind the billows of smoke. On the slope down toward the 
Dnieper, the teams of Alpatuitch and the landlord, which had 
at last been slowly advancing amid the ranks of soldiery and 
other equipages, were obliged to halt. A short distance from the 
eross-roads where the teams had halted, a house and some shops 
-were burning on the side street. ‘he fire was burning itself 
out. The flame would die down and lose itself in black smoke, 
‘then suddenly flash forth brilliantly again, bringing out with 
‘strange distinctness the faces of the spectators standing on 
the cross-roads. In front of the fire, the dark forms of men 
_were darting to and fro, and above the still audible crackling 
of the fire were heard shouts and cries. Alpatuitch, dismount- 
ing from his kibitka, as he saw that he should not be able to 
proceed for some time yet, walked down the cross-street to 
look at the conflagration. Soldiers were constantly busying 
‘themselves with the fire, passing back and forth, and Alpa- 
‘tuitch saw two soldiers, in company with another man in a 
Trieze coat, dragging from the fire some burning lumber across 
the street into the next dvor; others were adding fagots of 
straw. 

Alpatuitch joined the great throng of people who were stand- 
ing in front of a tall warehouse that was one mass of roaring 
flames. The walls were all on fire, the rear had fallen in, the 
timbered roof was giving way, the girders were blazing. The 
throng were evidently waiting for the roof to cave in. Atvall 
events, that was what Alpatuitch was waiting for. 

“ Alpatuitech!” A well-known voice suddenly called the 
old man by name. “Batyushka! your Lllustriousness!”’ re- 
plied Alpatuitch, instantly recognizing the voice of his young 
prince. 

Prince Andrei, in a riding-cloak, and mounted on a black 
horse, was stationed beyond the crowd and looking straight at 
Alpatuitch. 

“How come you here ?” he asked. 

“Your — your I]lustriousness,”’ stammered Alpatuitch, and 
Me sobbed. ‘ Your — your —I—I—2is—are we lost? Your 
‘father ” — 

__ “How come you here?” demanded Prince Andrei a second 

_ time. 

_ The flame blazed out again at that moment and revealed to 
Alpatuitch his young barin’s pale, weary face. Alpatuitch 

told how he had been sent and what difficulty he had met with 


Cal 


128 WAR AND PEACE. 


in getting out of town. — “But tell me, your Illustriousness, 
are we really lost?” he asked once more. 

Prince Andrei, without replying, drew out a note-book, and, 
spreading it on his knee, hastily pencilled a few lines on a 
torn leaf. He wrote his sister : — 


‘“Smolensk is abandoned; Luisiya Gorui will be occupied by the 
enemy inside of a week. Go immediately to Moscow. Send me word as 
soon as you start, by an express to Usviazh.”’ 


Having written this note and handed it to Alpatuitch, he 
was giving him some verbal instructions about the arrange- 
ments for the journey of the prince and princess and his son 
and the tutor, and how and where to communicate with him 
immediately. He had not had time to finish these instructions 
when a mounted staff nachalnik accompanied by a suite came 
galloping up to hin. 

“You, a colonel?” cried the staff nachalnik in a German 
accent and a voice that Prince Andrei instantly recognized. 
“In your very presence they are setting houses on fire, and 
you allow it? What is the meaning of this? You shall 
answer for it!” 

This was Berg, who now had the position of deputy chief 
of staff to the deputy chief of staff of the nachalnik of the 
infantry corps of the left flank of the first division of the 
army —a place that was very agreeable and “in sight” as 
Berg expressed it. 

Prince Andrei glanced at him, and, without replying, went 
on with his instructions to Alpatuitch : — 

“Tell them that I shall expect an answer by thé twenty- 
second, and that if by that time I do not get word that they 
have all gone, I myself shall be obliged to throw up every- — 
thing and go to Luisiya Gorui.” 

“‘T —prince, I only spoke as I did,” explained Berg, as soon 
as he recognized Prince Andrei, “because, because it is my | 
duty to carry out my orders, and I am always very scrupulous 
in carrying them out. —I beg you to excuse me,” said Berg, 
trying to apologize. 

There was a crash in the burning building. The fire for an 
instant died down; volumes of black smoke rolled up from 
the roof. Again there was a strange crashing sound, and the 
huge building fell in. 

“Urroorooroo!” yelled the throng, with a roar rivalling that 
of the fallen grain-house, from which now came an odor like 
hot cakes, caused by the burning flour. The flames darted up 








WARPAVDIRE ACH: 129 


and sent a bright reflection over the throng standing around 
the fire with gleefully excited or exhausted faces. 

The man in the frieze coat waved his arm and cried, “ Well 
Jone! she draws well now! Well done, boys!” 

“That’s the owner himself,” various voices were heard 
saying. 
_ “So then,” said Prince Andrei, addressing Alpatuitch, “give 
she message just as I have told you,” and, not vouchsafing a 
single word to Berg, who still stood near dumb with amaze- 
ment, he set spurs to his horse and rode down the side street. 


| CHAPTER V. 


THE armies continued to retreat from Smolensk. The 
memy followed. On the twenty-second of August the regi- 
nent which Prince Andrei commanded was moving along the 
ugh-road past the “prospekt ” which led to Luisiya Gorui. 

For.more than three weeks there had been a hot spell and 
lrought. Each day cirrous clouds moved across the sky and 
xecasionally veiled the sun; but by evening the heavens were 
lear again, and the sun set in brownish purple haze. The only 
‘efreshing that the earth got was from the heavy dew at night. 
Che standing crops of wheat were parched, and wasted their 
eed. The'marshes shrunk away. ‘he cattle bellowed from 
wunger, finding no grass along the ponds, which were dried 
way inthesun. Only at night and in the depths of the forest, 
vhile still the dew lay cool and wet, was there any freshness. 

But on the roads, on the high-road where the troops were 
narching, even at night, even in the shelter of the forests, this 
oolness was not to be found. The dew was imperceptible on 
he sandy dust, which was more than four inches deep. 

At the first ray of dawn the troops were set in motion. The 
lageage train and the field-pieces ploughed along noiselessly, 
inking almost up to the hubs of the wheels, and the infantry 
truggled through the soft, stifling, heated dust that settled 
sot even at night. One part of this sandy dust impeded feet 
nd wheels; the other arose in the air and hovered like a 
loud over the troops, filling eyes, hair, ears, and nostrils, and 
bove all the lungs, of men and beasts alike as they moved 
lowly along this highway. The higher the sun rose, the higher 
ose this cloud of dust; and though the sky was cloudless, the 
aked eye could endure to look at the sun through this curtain 
f fine hot dust. 


VOL. 3. — 9. 


130 WAR AND PEACE. 


The sun looked like a purple ball. There was not a breath 
of air stirring, and the men suffocated in the motionless atmos- | 
phere. They tramped along, covering their noses and mouths | 
with handkerchiefs. If they reached a village, they rushed | 
pell-mell for the wells. They fought for water, and. drank it 
every drop till nothing but mud was left. 

Prince Andrei was the commander of the regiment, and he | 
was deeply concerned in its organization and the well-being | 
of the men, and the carrying-out of the indispensable orders | 
which had to be given and received. The burning of Smo- 
lensk and its abandonment marked an epoch in his hfe. The | 
first feeling of hatred against the enemy made him forget his — 
own personal sorrow. He devoted himself exclusively to the 
affairs of his command; he was indefatigable in the service 
of his men and his subordinate officers, and treated them more 
than courteously. In the regiment they all called him “ our 
prince,” they were proud of him and loved him. 

But his kindness and affability were only for his own men— 
Timokhin and the like, men who were perfect strangers to him 
and his life, men who could not know him or recall his past ; 
the moment he fell in with any one of his former acquaintances, 
his fellow staff officers, he immediately became all bristles; he 
grew fierce, sarcastic, and scornful. Everything that served 
as a connection with the past revolted him, and consequently 
all he did so far as this former life was concerned was simply 
to try not to be unjust and to do his duty. 

It is true, everything appeared to Prince Andrei gloomy and 
even desperate, especially after the eighteenth of August, and 
the abandonment of Smolensk, — which in his opinion might 
and should have been defended, — and after his ailing father 
had been forced to fly to Moscow, and consign to spoliation 
his too well beloved Luisiya Gorui, which he had taken such 
infinite pains to cultivate and settle; but, in spite of this, 
thanks to Prince Andrei’s occupation with his regiment, he 
could let his mind be engrossed with other thoughts, entirely 
disconnected with the general course of events; namely, his 
regiment. 

On the twenty-second of August the column of which his 
regiment formed a part was opposite Luisiya Gorui. Prince 
Andrei, two days before, had received word that his father, 
his little son, and his sister had gone to Moscow. Although 
there was nothing to call him to Luisiya Gorui, he determined 
that it was his duty to go there, feeling a peculiar morbid 
desire to enjoy the bitterness of his grief. 





WAR AND PEACE. 131 


He ordered his horse to be saddled, and started off to ride 
fo the estate where he had been born and had spent his child- 
hood. 

As he rode by the pond, where generally there were a dozen 
chattering women beating and rinsing their linens, Prince 
Andrei noticed that it was deserted, and the little float had 
‘drifted out into the middle of the pond, and was tipped over 
and half full of water. Prince Andrei rode up to the gate-. 

‘keeper’s lodge ; but there was no one near the stone gate-way, 
and the door was unlocked. The garden paths were already 
Overgrown, and calves and horses were wandering about the 
“English park.” Prince Andrei went up to the orangery; the 
‘panes of glass were broken ; some of the tubs were overturned ; 
some of the trees were dried up. 

_ He shouted to Taras, the gardener. No one replied. Passing 
around the orangery, he saw that the carved deal fence was 
broken down, and the plum-trees were stripped of their fruit. 
An old muzhik — Prince Andrei remembered as a boy having 
seen him years before at the gates — was plaiting bast shoes 
as he sat on the green-painted bench. 

He was deaf, and did not hear Prince Andrei approach. He 
was sitting on the bench, which had been the old prince’s 
favorite seat, and near him, on the branches of a broken and 
dried-up magnolia, hung his strips of bast. 

Prince Andrei went to the house. Some of the linden-trees 
in the old park had been felled; a piebald mare, with her 
colt, was browsing in front of the house itself, among the rose 
beds. The window shutters,were closed. One window alone 
on the ground floor was open. A little peasant lad, catching 
sight of Prince Andrei, ran into the house. 

Alpatuitch, having got the household away, was the only 
one left at Luisiya Gorui. He was sitting in the house, and 
reading “The Lives of the Saints.” When he heard that 
Prince Andrei had come, he came out, with his spectacles on 
his nose, buttoning up his clothes, and hurried up to the 
prince, and, before he said a word, burst into tears, kissing 
Prince Andrei’s knee. 

_ Then he turned away, angry at. his own weakness, and 
began to give him an account of the state of affairs. Every- 
thing of any value and worth had been despatched to Bogu- 
sharovo. One hundred chetverts* of wheat had also been 
sent; the crops of hay and corn, which, according to Alpa- 
suitch, had been wonderful that year, had been taken standing 
| * A chetyert is 5.77 bushels. 


132 WAR AND PEACE. 


and carried off by the troops. The peasantry were all ruined: 
some had gone to Bogucharovo ; a very few were left. 

Prince Andrei, without heeding what he said, asked when 
his father and sister had left, meaning when had they gone to 
Moscow. -Alpatuitch, supposing he knew that they had gone 
to Bogucharovo, replied that they had started on the nine- 
teenth, and then again began to enlarge on the condition of 
the estate, and ask what arrangements he should make. 

“Do you order to let them have the oats in return for a 
receipt ? We-have still six hundred chetverts left,” asked 
Alpatuitch. 

“ What answer shall I give him ?” queried Prince Andrei, 
looking down at the bald head gleaming in the sun, and read- 
ing in the expression of his face a consciousness that the old 
man himself realized the incongruity of such questions, but 
asked them simply for the sake of drowning his own sorrow. 

“ Yes, do so,” said he. 

“Tf you will deign to notice the disorder in the garden,” 
pursued Alpatuitch ; “but it was impossible tq prevent it: 
three regiments came and camped here for the night. The 
dragoons especially — I took down the rank and the name of 
the commander, so as to lodge a complaint.” 

“Well, but what are you going to do ? Shall you remain if 
the enemy come ?” asked Prince Andrei. 

Alpatuitch, turning his face full on Prince Andrei, looked at 
him, And then suddenly, with a solemn gesture, he raised his 
hands to heaven. “He is my protector; His will be done!” 
he exclaimed. ‘ | 

A throng of muzhiks and household serfs came trooping 
across the meadow, and approached Prince Andrei with un- 
covered heads. 

“Well, prashchat — good-by,” said Prince Andrei, bending 
down to Alpatuitch. “Escape yourself, take what you can, 
atid tell the people to go to the Riazan property, or our pod- 
Moskovnaya.” ; 

Alpatuitch pressed up against his leg, and sobbed. Prince 
Andrei gently pushed him away, and, giving spurs to his 
horse, rode at a gallop down the driveway. 

To all appearance as impassive as a fly on the face of a dear 
dead friend, still sat the old man, and thumped on his shoe 
last. Two young girls, with their skirts full of plums, which 
they had gathered from the trees, were coming away from the 
orangery, and met Prince Andrei. When they saw theit 
young barin, the older of the two girls, with an expression of 


WAR AND PEACE. Le 


terror on her face, seized her companion by the arm, and the 
two hid behind a birch-tree, without having time to gather up 
the green fruit that had fallen from their skirts. 

Prince Andrei, with a feeling of compunction, hastened. to 

look the other way, so that they might think he had not seen 
them. He felt sorry to have frightened the pretty little girls. 
‘He was afraid to look at them, but, at the same time, he had 
an overwhelming desire to do so. <A new, joyful, and tran- 
‘quillizing sense took possession of him at the sight of these 
little girls: he recognized that there existed other human. in- 
terests entirely apart from his own existence, and yet Just as 
lawful as those with which he was occupied. These two 
‘young girls had evidently only one passionate desire — to 
carry off and eat those green plums, and not be found out; 
and Prince Andrei sympathized with them, and hoped for the 
success of their enterprise. He could not refrain from looking 
back at them once more. 
_ Supposing that their peril was happily past, they had sprung 
out from their hiding-place, and, shouting something in shrill 
voices, they were running gayly across the meadow as fast as 
their bare, sun-burned little legs would take them. 

Prince Andrei felt somewhat refreshed by his digression 
from the dusty high-road, where the troops had been marching. 
But not very far from Luisiya Gorui, he again struck the main 
‘thoroughfare, and found his own regiment halting on the em- 
bankment of a small pond. 

It was about two o’clock in the afternoon. The sun, shining 
through the dust like a red ball, was unendurably hot, and 
‘burned his back under his black coat. The dust still hung 
like a cloud over the companies while they halted amid a hum 
of voices. There was no wind. As Prince Andrei rode along 
the embankment, he caught the faint scent of the mud and 
‘fresh coolness of the pond. He felt an inclination to take a 
‘plunge into the water, muddy as if was. He gazed at the 
pond, from which rose the sounds of shouts and laughter. 
‘The little sheet, muddy, and green with slime, had evidently 
Tisen and was now washing up against the embankment, sim- 
‘ply because it was full of human bodies, — the bare bodies of 
soldiers floundering about in it, their white skins making vivid 
contrast to their brick-red arms, faces, and necks. All this 
‘mass of bare human flesh was wriggling about, with shouts 
‘and laughter, in that filthy water, like carps flopping in a 
‘scoop. This wriggling carried the name of enjoyment, and for 
‘that very reason it was particularly melancholy. 


134 WAR AND PEACE. 


One blond young -soldier — Prince Andrei had already 


noticed him—of the third company, with a leather string 


around his calf, crossed himself, stepped back a little so as 


to get a good start, and dived into the water; another man, a| 
dark-complexioned non-commissioned officer, with rumpled) 


hair, was up to his middle in the water, ducking his mus- 


cular form, and, snorting joyfully, was pouring the water over’ 
his head from hands black even to the wrists. There was a) 


sound of splashing and yelling and plunging. 

On the shores, on the embankment, in the pond itself, every- 
where was the spectacle of white, healthy, muscular human 
flesh. The officer, Timokhin, with his short, red nose, was 
rubbing himself down with a towel on the embankment, and 
was rather ashamed at seeing the prince; however, he addressed 
him, — 

“Pretty good, your Illustriousness ; you ought to try it,” 
said he. ee . 

“ Dirty,” said Prince Andrei, making up a face. | 

“ We will have it cleared out for you, ina moment.” And 
Timokhin, still undressed, ran down to the water, shouting: 


“The prince wants a bath.” 


“What prince? Ours?” shouted various voices, and all 


were so zealous that. Prince Andrei had some difficulty in ap- 
peasing them. He felt that he would much rather take a 
bath in a barn. 


‘“ Flesh. body! chair a canon!” said he to himself, as he 
; Vi ; 


looked down at his bare body, and he trembled, not so much 
from chill as from his aversion and horror, incomprehensible 
even to himself, at the sight of that tremendous mass of bodies 
rinsing themselves in that filthy pond. | 


On the nineteenth of August, Prince Bagration, at his en- 
campment of Mikhailovka on the Smolensk highway, had 
written the following letter to Arakcheyef; but he knew that 
it would be read by the sovereign, and, consequently, he 
weighed every word to the very best of his ability. 


‘““My DEAR Count ALEKSEI ANDREYEVITCH :—I suppose the minister 
has already reported to you concerning the surrender of Smolensk to the 


enemy. It is saddening and painful, and the whole army are in despair 


that such an important place should have been needlessly abandoned. I. 
for my part, personally besought him most earnestly, and at last even 
wrotehim. I swear onmy honor that never before was Napoleon ‘in such 
a box,’ and he might have lost half of his army, but he could not haye 
taken Smolensk. Our troops have been and still are fighting as never 
before. I held out with fifteen thousand men for more than thirty-five 


+ 


b WAR AND PEACE. 135 





r 


‘ours, and beat them, but he was not willing to wait even fourteen hours, 
‘t is a shame and a blot on our army, and methinks he ought not to live 
2a this world. If he reports that our losses are heavy, it is false — pos- 
-ibly four thousand, not more than that; even if it had been ten thou- 
‘and, what would it have been? ‘This is war. But, to offset it, the 
nemy lost a host. 
- *“What was to prevent him holding out two days longer? Without 
(uestion they would have been forced to give it up: they had no water for 
jen and horses. He gave me his word that he would not give way, but 
‘uddenly he sent me word that he was going to desert the city by night. 
‘Ve cannot make war that way, and we shal) soon be having the enemy 
-t Moscow. 

_ ©The rumor that you are thinking of peace, God forbid! Afterall our 
acrifices, and after such an idiotic retreat, the idea of making peace! 
fou will have all Russia against you, and we shall all be ashamed of 
lyvearing the Russian uniform. Since things have gone so far as they 
iave, we must fight so long as Russia can, and so long as we have a man 
live. 

“Tt is essential that one man and not two should have supreme command. 
Tour minister is perhaps excellent in the ministry, but as a general it is 
1ot enough to say that he is bad! he is abominable! and yet in his hands 
s intrusted the fate of our whole country. 

' “T assure you I am beside myself with vexation; forgive me for writing 
‘ofrankly. It is plain to my mind that any one who advises peace, and 
pproves of confiding the command of the troops to the minister, is no 
‘rue friend to the sovereign, and wishes to involve us all in a common de- 
‘truction. And so I write you the truth. Arm the landwehr! Here 
he minister, in the most masterly fashion, is conducting his guests to the 
capital. 

“Mr. Woltzogen, the fliigel-adjutant, is giving the army great cause for 
uspicion. They say he is even less favorable to us than Napoleon him- 
‘elf, and that he inspires all that the minister does. 

- “TI am not merely polite to him, I am as obedient as a corporal, 
ilthough I am older than he is. It is painful, but as I love my sovereign 
nd benefactor, I subordinate myself. Only I am sorry that the sovereign 
‘hould intrust him with such a glorious army. Just imagine! In our 
treat we have lost more than fifteen thousand through fatigue and in 
‘ospitals; now, if we had advanced, this would not have happened. For 
3od’s sake, have it proclaimed that our Russia — our mother — will call 
‘ts cowards, and will demand why we have handed over such a good and 
‘dorious country to a mob, thus stirring up hatred and humiliation in the 
jeart of every subject. What should make us cowards ? Whom do we 
‘ear? It is not my fault that the minister is irresolute, cowardly, dull of 
‘wpprehension, dilatory, and has all the worst qualities. ‘The whole army 
‘ire entirely discouraged, and load him with execrations.” 


y 


CHAPTER VI. 


Amonc the innumerable subdivisions into which the phe- 
‘nomena of life can be disposed, there is one category where 
matter predominates in contradistinction to another where 
‘form predominates. A contrast of this kind may be observed 





4 


136 WAR AND PEACE. 


between life in the country, in the village, in the govern- 
mental town — nay, even in Moscow, and that which can be 
seen at Petersburg, and especially in the Petersburg salons. 
This sort of life goes on always the same. 

Since 1805 we had been quarrelling and making up with 
Bonaparte ; we had been making constitutions and unmaking 
them, and yet Anna Pavloyna’s salon was exactly the same as 
it had been seven years before, and Ellen’s salon was exactly) 
the same as it had been five years before. Just exactly as 
before, at Anna Pavlovna’s, they were amazed and perplexed 
at Bonaparte’s successes, and detected, not only in his sue- 
cesses, but also in the subservience of the sovereigns of 
Europe, a wicked conspiracy, the sole object of which was to 
disgust and alarm the courtly cirele that regarded Anna Pavy- 
lovna as its representative. 

And just exactly the same way at Ellen’s (where Rumyant- 
sef himself was gracious enough to be a frequent visitor, con- 
sidering her a remarkably intelligent woman) in 1812, as in 
1808, they talked with enthusiasm of the “great nation ” 
and “the great man,” and regretted the rupture with the 
French, which in the opinion of the habitués of Ellen’s salon 
ought to end with peace. 

Latterly, since the sovereign’s departure from the army, 
these rival elique-salons were the scenes of some excitement ; 
and demonstrations of mutual hostility were made, but the 
general characteristics of the two cliques remained the same. 

Anna Pavlovna’s clique received no Frenchmen, except a 
few inveterate legitimists. It was here that the patriotic idea 
originated of people being in duty bound to stay away from 
the French theatre, and the criticism was made that 1t cost as 
much to maintain the troupe as to maintain a whole army 
corps. Here the course of military affairs was eagerly fol- 
lowed, and the most advantageous reports of our armies found 
ready credence. 

In Ellen’s clique, where Rumyantsef and the French were 
in favor, the reports as to the barbarities of the enemy and of 
the war were contradicted, and all Napoleon’s overtures for 
reconciliation were discussed. This clique were loud m 
reproaching those who showed what they considered too great 
haste in making preparations to remove to Kazan, the “ Im- 
perial Institute for the education of young ladies of the 
nobility,” the patroness of which was the empress dowager. 
Anyway, those who frequented Ellen’s salon regarded the 
war merely as an empty demonstration, which would be very 


WAR AND PEACE. 137 


juickly followed by peace, and here they made great use of a 
vitticism of Bilibin’s, — who was now a frequent visitor at 
{llen’s, as indeed it behooved every sensible man to be, —to the 
‘fects that the affair should be settled not by gunpowder, but 
yy the man who invented it.* 

_ In this clique there was much laughter — caused by the 
itty and ironical, though always guarded observations upon 
che enthusiasm at Moscow, news of which had arrived at 
“etersburg simultaneously with the return of the sovereign. 

| Anna Pavlovna’s clique, on the contrary, were enraptured 
vith this enthusiasm, and spoke of the acts of the Moscovites 
§ Plutarch speaks of the glorious deeds of antiquity. 

| Prince Vasili, who, just the same as of yore, held important 
‘unctions, formed a bond of union between the two cliques. 
_ He was equally at home with ma bonne amie, Anna Pavlovna, 
nd in the salon diplomatique de ma fille, and frequently, ow- 
ng to his constant visits from one. camp to the other, he got 
onfused, and said at Ellen’s what he should have said at Anna 
’avlovna’s and vice versa. 

| Shortly after the sovereign’s arrival, Prince Vasili was at 
Anna Pavlovna’s, conversing about the war, sharply criticis- 
ag Barclay de Tolly, and frankly confessing his doubt as to 
he fit person to call to the head of the armies. 

One of the visitors, who was known as Vhomme de beau- 
up de mérite, —the man of great merit, — mentioning the 
iet that he had that day seen Kutuzof, the newly appointed 
hief of the Petersburg landwehr, at the Court of Exchequer, 
arolling volunteers, allowed himself cautiously to suggest that 
<utuzof would be the man to satisfy all demands. 

_ Anna Pavlovna smiled sadly, and remarked that Kutuzof 
wsed the sovereign nothing but unpleasantness. 

' “T have said, and I have said in the chamber of nobles,” 
aterrupted Prince Vasili, “but they would not heed me, —I 
ave said that his election as commandant of the landwehr 
ould not please the sovereign. They would not listen to me. 
jis this everlasting mania for petty intrigue,” pursued Prince 
asili. “And for what purpose? Simply because we want 
» ape that stupid Moscow enthusiasm,” said Prince Vasil, 
coming confused for a moment, and forgetting that it was at 
llen’s where it was considered correct to make sport of Mos- 
ow enthusiasm, but the fashion to praise it at Anna Pay- 
yna’s. But he instantly corrected himself. 


Hae n'a pas inventé la poudre ; He will never set the Thames on fire. The 
“assian idiom is similar. 





188 WAR AND PEACE. 


“ Now, then, is it fit for Count Kutuzof, Russia’s oldest gen: 
eral, to be holding such sessions at the court ? et al en resterd 
pour sa peine — that’s as far as he will get. Is it possible to 
make a man commander-in-chief who cannot sit a horse, wh4 
dozes during council meetings, —a man of the worst possi: 
ble manners ? He won a fine reputation for himself at Buka; 
rest, didn’t he? And I have nothing to say about his qualities 
as a general; but is it possible, under present circumstances, tq 
nominate to such a place a man who is decrepit and blind 
-simply blind? A blind general would be a fine thing! He 
can’t see anything at'all! He might play blind-man’s-buff — 
but, really, he can’t see anything! ” 

No one raised any objection to this. 

On the twenty-fifth of August this was perfectly correct 
But, five days later, Kutuzof received the title of prince of th 
empire. This advance in dignities might also signify that 
they wanted to shelve him, and, therefore, Prince Vasil’s erit 
icism would continue to be well-received, although he was no} 
so ready to deliver himself of it. But, on the twentieth o: 
August, a committee was summoned, composed of Field-Mar 
shal Saltuikof, Arakcheyef, Viazmitinof, Lopukhin, and Ko 
tchubey, to consider the conduct of the war. The committee 
decided that the failures were attributable to the division 0; 
command; and, although the individuals composing the con 
mittee well knew the sovereign’s disaffection for Kutuzof, the} 
determined, after a brief deliberation, to place him at the heac 
of the armies. 

And, on that same day, Kutuzof was made plenipotentiary 
commander-in-chief of the armies, and of the whole distric 
occupied by the troops. 

On the twenty-first, Prince Vasili and the “man of gre 
merit” met again at Anna Pavlovna’s. “L’homme de bear 
coup de mérite” was dancing attendance on Anna Pavlovna 
with the hope of securing the appointment of trustee to ‘ 
woman’s educational institute. 

Prince Vasili entered the drawing-room with the air of : 
rejoicing conqueror who had reached the goal of all his ambi 
tions. 

“Well, you know the great news: Prince Kutuzof i 
appointed field-marshal.* All discords are at an end! I ar 
so happy, so glad!” exclaimed Prince Vasili. “ There’s | 
man for you! — enfin voila un homme!” he added with sig 


hy a bien, vous savez la grande nouvelle? Le Prince Koutouzoff est mai 
échal ! 


WAR AND PRACR. 139 


ificant emphasis, surveying all in the room with a stern 

lance. 

“L’homme de beaucoup de mérite,” in spite of his anxiety to 

‘otain a place, could not refrain from reminding Prince Vasili 

‘his former criticism. This was an act of discourtesy both 
yward Prince Vasili, in Anna Pavlovna’s drawing-room, but 

‘So toward Anna Pavlovna herself, who had also been greatly 

slighted with the news; but he could not refrain. 

““But it is said that he is blind, prince,” * he suggested, 

toting Prince Vasili’s own words. 

“Oh, pshaw! he sees well enough,” replied Prince Vasili, 
, quick, deep tones, and clearing his throat — his usual resort 

'r getting himself out of an awkward situation. “Allez / il y 
wt,” he repeated. “And what makes me glad,” he went 
ito say, “is that the sovereign has given him full powers 
rer all the forces, and over the whole district — such powers 
“never commander-in-chief enjoyed before. This makes him 
€ second autocrat,” he said, in conclusion, with a triumphant 
aile. 

“God grant it, God grant it,” said Anna Pavlovna. 
“L’homme de beaucoup de mérite,” who was still somewhat 
@ novice in courtly circles, and wishing to flatter Anna Pav- 

vna by taking the ground which she had formerly taken in 

gard to the same subject, said, — 

“They say it went against the sovereign’s heart’ to allow 
ese powers to Kutuzof. They say that Kutuzof blushed like 
ichool-girl hearing ‘Joconde,’ when the emperor said: ‘The 
vereign and your country grant you this honor.’ ” f 

“Possibly his heart had nothing to do with it,” said Anna 
wlovna. 

“Oh, no, certainly not,” hotly eried Prince Vasili, coming 
his defence. He could not now allow any one to surpass 
n in his zeal for Kutuzof. According to his idea at the 

3sent time, not only was Kutuzof himself the best of men, 

$ every one simply worshipped him. —“N 0, that is impos- 

2 because his majesty long ago appreciated his worth,” 

d he. 

“Only, God grant,” — ejaculated Anna Pavlovna, — “God 

int that Prince Kutuzof may have actual power, and will 


3 allow any one whatever to put a spoke in his wheels — 
‘ batons dans les roues.” 


t Mais Von dit qwil est aveugle, mon prince. 
| On dit qwil rougit comme une demoiselle a laquelle on lirait Joconde, en 
isant: “ Le souverain et la patrie vous decernent cet honneur.”” 


140 WAR AND PEACE. 


Prince Vasili instantly understood whom she meant by any. 
one. He said in a whisper, — | 

“1 know for a certainty that Kutuzof demanded as an abso- 
lute condition that the tsesarevitch should not have anything} 
to do with the army. You know what he said to the empe-| 
ror?” —and Prince Vasili repeated the words which it was sup- 
posed Kutuzof spoke to the sovereign, — ‘I cannot punish him: 
if he does wrong, or reward him if he does well.’ Oh! he is a 
shrewd man, that Prince Kutuzof—je le connais de longue 
date.” | 
“But they do say,” insisted Vhomme de beaucoup de mérite, 
failing still to employ the tact required at court, —“ they do 
say that his*serene highness made it a sine gua non that the. 
sovereign himself should keep away from the army.” 

The moment he had spoken those words, Prince Vasili and 
Anna Pavlovna simultaneously turned their backs on him, 
and, with a sigh of pity for his. natveté, exchanged a melan- 
choly look. | 


CHAPTER VII. 


Wuite this was going on at Petersburg, the French had 
already left Smolensk behind, and were constantly drawing 
nearer and nearer to Moscow. 

Thiers, the historian of Napoleon, like other historians. of 
Napoleon, in trying to justify his hero, says that he was drawn 
on to the walls of Moscow against his will. He and all sim) 
lar historians are correct on the assumption that the explana: 
tion of all historical events is to be found in the will of a 
single man. He is right, just as the Russian historians are 
right, who assert that Napoleon was lured on to Moscow by 
the skill of thé Russian generals. Here, unless one goes 
according to the laws of retrospection, by which, from thé 
vantage-ground of distance, all that has gone before is seer 
to be the preparation for a given event, everything will seeir 
confused and complicated. A good chess-player, on losing ¢ 
came, becomes convinced that the cause of it was to be founc 
im his own blunder, and he seeks to find what false move he 
made at the beginning of his game; but he forgets that a 
each step throughout the game there were similar blunders, s¢ 
that not a single move of his was correct. The blunder + 
which he directs his attention he notices because his opponei 
took advantage of it. But how much more complicated i: 


- . WAR AND PEACE. : 141 


us game of war, which proceeds under the temporal condi- 
ons where it is impossible that a single will should animate 
ae lifeless machine, but where everything results from the 
umberless collisions of various volitions ! 

After quitting Smolensk, Napoleon tried to force a battle 
ear Dorogobuzh, at Viazma, then at Tsarevo-Zéimishche;* but 
‘ happened through these same “innumerable collisions of 
ireumstances ” that the Russians were unable to meet the 
tench in battle until they reached Borodiné, one hundred and 
welve versts from Moscow. At Viazma, Napoleon issued his 
tders to march straight upon Moscow: Moscow, the Asiatic 
ypital of this great empire, the sacred city of Alexander’s 
Opulations, Moscow with its countless churches like Chinese 
agodas.T 
‘This Moscow allowed Napoleon’s imagination no rest. On 
ve march from Viazma to T’sarevo-Zéimishche, Napoleon rode 
is English-groomed bay ambler, accompanied by his Guards, 
is body-guard, his pages, and his aides. His chief of staff, 
erthier, had remained behind to interrogate a Russian who 
ad been taken prisoner by the cavalry. And now, accom- 
amied by his interpreter, Lelorme d’Ideville, he overtook 
apoleon at a gallop, and with a beaming face reined in his 
orse. 

“Hh, bien?” asked Napoleon. 

“One of Platof’s Cossacks :—he says Platof’s corps is just 
ining the main army, that Kutuzof has been appointed com- 
ander-in-chief. Very intelligent and ‘talkative — trés-intelli- 
mt et bavard.” 

Napoleon smiled, ordered this Cossack to be furnished with 
horse, and brought to him. He wished to have a talk with 
mM. Several aides galloped off, and within an hour Denisof’s 
1f, who had been turned by him over to Rostof, Lavrushka, 
a denshchik’s roundabout, came riding up to Napoleon on a 
rench cavalryman’s saddle, with his rascally, drunken face 
ining with jollity. Napoleon ordered him to ride along by 
S$ side, and proceeded to question him. 
t. You are a Cossack, are you?” 

“T am, your nobility.” 
“The Cossack,” says Thiers, in telling this episode, “not 
lowing his companion, for there was nothing in Napoleon’s 


| 


* Zaimisyche means ‘a field frequently overflowed.” 

‘Tt Moscou, la capitale asiatique de ce yrande empire, la capitale sacrée des 
juples d’ Alexandre, Moscow avec ses innombrables églises en forme dé 
godes chinoises. 


142 : ' WAR AND’ PEACH OR q 
















appearance that could suggest the presence of a sovereign to 
an Oriental imagination, conversed with the utmost famil, 
jarity concerning the occurrences of the war.” * | 

In reality, Lavrushka, who had been drunk the evenin; 
before, and had failed to provide his barin with any din: 
ner, had been thrashed and sent off to some village after 
fowls, and there he was tempted by his opportunity for 
marauding, and was taken prisoner by the French. 

Lavrushka was one of those coarse, insolent lackeys who 
have seen every kind of life, who consider it to their advan- 
tage to do everything by treachery and trickery, who are 
ready to subserve their masters in anything, and are shrewd 
in divining their evil thoughts, especially those that are vain 
and petty. 

Being brought now into the company of Napoleon, whom 
he was sharp enough to recognize, Lavrushka did not in the 
slightest degree lose his presence of mind, and merely set to 
work with all his soul to get into the good graces of his new 
masters. | 

He knew perfectly well that it was Napoleon himself, and 
there was no more reason for him to be abashed in Napoleon’s 
presence than in Rostof’s or the sergeant’s with his knout, for 
the simple reason that there was nothing of which either the 
sergeant or Napoleon could deprive him. 

He glibly rattled off all the gossip that was current among 
the denshchiks. Much of this was true. But when Napoleon 
asked him whether the Russians anticipated winning a vit- 
tory over Napoleon or not, Lavrushka frowned and deliberated. 
Here he saw some subtile craft, just as men like Lavrushka 
always see craft in everything, and he contracted his brows 
and was silent for a little. 

“This is about the way of it: f there’s a battle pretty 
soon, then yours will beat. That’s a fact. But if three days 
pass then if there’s a battle it’ll be a long one.” 

This was interpreted to Napoleon as follows: Si la bataile 
est donnée avant trois jours, les Frangais la gagneraient, mas 
que si elle serait donnée plus tard, Dieu sait ce qui en arr 
verait — “If the battle takes place within three days, the 
French would win, but if it were postponed longer, Heaven 
knows what would come of it.” hus it was delivered by 





* Le cosaque ignorant la compagnie dans laquelle il se trouvdit,car la sin 
plicité de Napoléon n’avait rien qui put révéler a une imagination orientale | 
présence d’un souverain, s’entretint avec la plus grande familiarité des affaire 
de la guerre actuelle. a 


WAR AND: PEACE. ; 143 


elorme d’Ideville with a smile. Napoleon, though he was 
/vidently in a genial frame of mind, did not smile, and ordered 
hese words to “be repeated. 

_ Lavrushka noticed this, and, in order to amuse him, pre- 
ended that he did not know who he was. 

. “We know that you have Napoleon on your side: he’s 
\vhipped everybody on earth, but then he’ll find us of a differ- 
‘mt mettle,” — said he, not knowing himself what made him 
‘ntroduce this boastful patriotism into his words. The inter- 
yreter passed over the last clause and translated the first part 
only, and Napoleon smiled. “La jeune Cosaque fit sourire son 
‘Missant interlocuteur —the young Cossack’s remark made his 
howerful companion smile,” says Thiers. 

After riding a few steps farther in silence, Napoleon spoke 
0 Berthier and said that he would like to try the effect that 
vould be produced on this enfant du Don on learning that the 
nan with whom he, this enfant du Don, had been conversing 
vas the emperor himself, the very emperor who had written 
ais eternally victorious name on the pyramids. 
| The information was communicated. 

Lavrushka, —comprehending that this had been done so as 
0 embarrass him, and that Napoleon would expect him to 
how signs of fear, —and wishing to please his new masters, 
mmediately pretended to be overwhelmed with astonishment 
md struck dumb; he dropped his eyes and put on such a face 
48 he usually drew when he was led off for a thrashing. 
Says Thiers: — “ Hardly had Napoleon’s interpreter revealed 
us name, ere the Cossack was overwhelmed with confusion ; 
ie did not utter another word and rode on with his eyes 
teadily fixed on that conqueror whose name had reached even 
us ears across the steppes of the East. All his loquacity was 
uddenly checked and gave place to unaffected, silent admira- 
ion. Napoleon, having rewarded him, set him at liberty, as a 
‘ird is restored to its native fields.” * 

. Napoleon went on his way, but the bird restored to its 
jative fields galloped off to the picket lnes, thinking up 
forehand what sort of a romance he should tell his ac- 
(uaintances. The thing that had actually happened to him 
i * A neine Vinterprete de Napoléon avait-il parlé, que le Cosaque, saisi 

une sorte d’abaissement, ne proféra plus une parole et marcha les yeux con- 
famment attachés sur ce conquérant, dont le nom avait pénétré jusqu’a lui, 
travers les steppes de Vorient. Toute sa loquacité s’était subitement arrétée, 
‘our faire place aun sentiment @admiration naive et silencieuse. Napoléon, 
tna Pavoir récompensé, lui fit donner la liberté comme a un oiseau qu’on 


end aux champs qui Vont vu naitre. 


144 WAR AND PEACE. 










he had no intention of telling, for the simple reason that it 
seemed to him unworthy of narration. He rode up to th 
Cossacks and made inquiries as to where he should find hi 
regiment, which now formed a part of Platof’s division, an 
toward evening he reported to his barin, Nikolai Rostof, wh 
was bivouacking at Yankovo and had just mounted to mak 
a reconnoissance of the neighboring villages. He gave La 
vrushka a fresh horse and took him with him. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Tur Princess Mariya was not at Moscow and out of harm’ 
way, as her brother supposed. 

When Alpatuitch returned from Smolensk, the old prine¢ 
seemed suddenly to wake, as it were, from a dream. H 
ordered the peasantry to be formed into the landwehr an 
armed, and wrote a letter to the commander-in-chief, inform 
ing him of his intention to remain at Luisiya Gorui and de 
fend himself till the last extremity, leaving it to his consider: 
ation whether to take measures or not for the defence of the 
place where one of the oldest of Russian generals proposed to 
be taken prisoner or to die. At the same time he announced 
to his household that he should remain at Luisiya Gorui. 

But, while determined himself not to quit Luisiya Gorui, he 
insisted that the princess with Dessalles and the young prince 
should go to Bogucharovo, and from there to Moscow. The 
princess, alarmed by her father’s feverish, sleepless activity 
so suddenly taking the place of his former lethargy, could nob 
bring herself to leave him alone, and for the first time in her 
life permitted ‘herself to disobey him. She refused to leave, 
and this drew upon her a terrific storm of fury from the 
prince. He brought up against her everything which he 
could find that was most unjust toward her. In his ei 
deavors to incriminate her, he declared that she was a torment 
to him, that she had made him quarrel with his son, that she 
had harbored shameful suspicions of him, that she made 1 
the task of her life to poison his life, and finally he drove her 
out of his ‘cabinet, saying that if he never set eyes on het 
again, it would be all the same to him. 

He declared that he would never have her name mentioned, 
and henceforth she might do what she pleased, but let hem 
never dare to come into his sight again, The fact that, im 
spite of the Princess Mariya’s apprehensions, he did not orde 


WAR AND PEACE. 145 


ar to be carried away by main force, but simply forbade her 
»come into his sight, was a comfort to her. She knew this 
toved that in the secret depths of his heart he was glad of 
er determination to stay at home and not go. 

On the morning of the day after Nikolushka’s departure, 
ie old prince put on his full uniform and prepared to visit 
te commander-in-chief. The carriage was already at the 
dor. The Princess Mariya saw him as he left the house in 
is uniform and all his orders, and went down into the park 
y review his peasantry and household serfs under arms. The 
rincess Mariya sat at the window and listened to the tones 
- his voice echoing through the park. Suddenly a number of 
‘en came running from the avenue with frightened faces. 
‘The Princess Mariya hastened down the steps, along the 
dwer-bordered walk and into the avenue. Here she was met 
ya great throng of the landwehr and the household serfs, 
id in the centre of this throng several men were carrying 
ie poor little veteran in his uniform and orders. 

‘The Princess Mariya ran up to him, and, in the shifting 
‘ay of the sunbeams falling in little circles through the lime- 
ee boughs, and flecking the ground, she could not clearly 
ake out what change had taken place in her father’s face. 
he one thing that she noticed was that the former stern and 
solute expression of his face had changed into an expression 

‘timidity and submission. When he caught sight of his 
wghter, he moved his lips, but his words were unintelligible, 
id the only sound that came forth was a hoarse rattling. — 
‘was impossible to understand what he wished to say. They 
ok him carefully in their arms, carried him into his cabinet, 
id laid him on that divan where he had: been of late so loath 

he. 

The doctor who was summoned that same night took blood 
om him, and announced that paralysis had affected his right 
de. 

As it grew more and more dangerous to remain at Luisiya 
orui, the day after the stroke the prince was removed to 
ogucharovo. The doctor went with him. 
When they reached Bogucharovo, Dessalles and the little 
‘ince had already started for Moscow. 

The old prince lay for three weeks in the same condition, 
‘ther better nor worse, in the new house which his son had 
ected at Bogucharovo. He lay in a lethargic state. He was 
xe a mutilated corpse. He kept constantly muttering some- 
ing with twitching brows and lips, but it was impossible to 

VOL. 3. — 10, 




























146 WAR AND PEACE. 


: 


make out whether or not he realized what was going on aroun 
him. 

The only thing that was certain was that he struggled ancl 
felt the necessity of saying something; but what it was no 
one could divine. Was it the whim of a sick and semi-deliri: 
ous man? Did it refer to the general course of affairs? Or 
was it in regard to the circumstances of the family? This 
was a question that no one could decide. 

The doctor insisted that there was no significance to be 
found in this restlessness, that it proceeded wholly from 
physical causes ; but the Princess Mariya felt certain that he 
wished to say something to her, and the fact that her presence 
always increased his agitation confirmed her in this supposi- 
tion. 

He apparently suffered both physically and mentally. There 
was no hope of his recovery. It was impossible to remove 
him. And what would have been done had he died on the 
road ? | 

“ Would not the end, would not death be far better ?” th 
Princess Mariya sometimes asked herself. She sat by him 
night and day, almost denying herself sleep; and, terrible to 
say, she often watched him closely, not with the hope of dis- 
covering symptoms of improvement, but rather with the wis/ 
that she might discover the approaching end. 

Strange as it was for the princess to confess to this feeling, 
still it was there. And what was still more horrible for he 
was that since the illness of her father —even if it were no 
earlier, the time, say, when she had elected to stay by him 
with some vague expectation —all her long-forgotten hopes 
and desires seemed to wake and take possession of her once 
more. What she had long years ago ceased to think of — the 
thought of a life free from the terror of her father’s tyranny, 
even the dream of love, and the possibility of family happr 
ness, constantly arose in her imagination like the suggestions 
of the evil one. 

o matter how strenuously she tried to put them all away, 
the thought would constantly arise in her mind how she 
would henceforth, after this was over, arrange her life. This 
was a temptation from the devil, and the Princess Mariy 
knew it. She knew that the only weapon against this was 
prayer, and she tried to pray. She put herself into the atti- 
tude of prayer, she looked at the holy pictures, she read th 
words of the breviary, but she could not pray. She felt that 
now she was going to be brought into contact with the world 
| 


y 


WAR AND PEACE. 147 


f life, of hard and yet free activity, so different, so wholly 
pposed to that moral world in which she had been hitherto 
arrounded ; in which her best consolation had been prayer. She 
ound it impossible to pray, impossible to shed a tear; the 
ew laborious delight of living had taken possession of her. 

It was growing still more perilous to remain at Bogu- 
harovo. From every direction came rumors of the approach 
f the French, and in a village only fifteen versts distant a 
armhouse had been pillaged by French marauders. 

The doctor insisted that it was necessary to get his patient 
arther away. ‘The predvodityel, or marshal of the nobility, 
ent an officer to the Princess Mariya, urging her to get away 
's speedily as possible. The district. ispravnik, coming in 
rerson to Bogucharovo, insisted on the same thing, declaring 
hat the French were only forty versts off, that the French 
roclamations were circulating among the villages, and that if 
he princess did not get her father away by the twenty-seventh, 
would not answer for the consequences. 

_ The princess resolved to start on the twenty- seventh. The 
abors in preparation, the manifold orders which she had to 
ive, as every one came to her for directions, kept her busy all 
ay long. The night of the twenty-sixth she spent as usual, 
rithout undressing, in the room next to that occupied by her 
ather. Several times, arousing from her doze, she heard his 
oarse breathing and muttering, the creaking of his bed, and 
he steps of Tikhon and the doctor as they turned him over. 
ieveral times she listened at the door, and it seemed to her 
hat he muttered more distinctly than hitherto, and turned 
ver more frequently. She could not sleep, and many times she 
vent to the door and listened, wishing to go in, and yet not 
‘aving the courage to do so. Although he could not tell her 
0, still she had seen and she knew how much he was annoyed 
'y every expression of solicitude on his account. She had ob- 
erved how he impatiently avoided her glance, which she 
ometimes fixed upon him, in spite of herself, full of anxiety. 
jhe knew that her intrusion at night, at such an unusual time, 
vould annoy him. 

But never before had she felt so sad, so terribly sad, at the 
hought of losing him. She recalled all her hfe with him, 
‘nd discovered the expression of his love for her in his every 
ford and every deed. Occasionally these recollections would 
‘e interrupted by those promptings of the devil, the thoughts 
f what would happen after he was gone, and how she would 
trange her new life of freedom. But she dismissed such 


148 WAR AND PEACE. 


thoughts with loathing. Toward morning he became quieter 
and she fell into a sound sleep. 

She awoke late. The clear-sightedness which is a concom: 
tant of our waking hours made her realize that her father’ 
illness was the one predominant occupation of her life. A 
she woke up she listened for what was going on in the next 
room, and, hearing his hoarse’ breathing, she said to herself 
with a sigh that there was no change. 

“ But what should it be? What is it that I wish? I aii 
looking forward to his death,” she told herself, revolted at 
the very thought. 

She changed her dress, made her toilet, said her prayers, 
and went out on the steps. In front of the door the carriages 
were standing without horses; a number of things had been 
already packed. 

The morning was warm and hazy. The Princess Mariya 
was standing on the steps, her mind still full of horror at the 
thought of her moral depravity, and striving to bring some 
order into her mental state before going in to see him. 

The doctor came downstairs and approached her. 

“He is better to-day,” said he. “I was looking for yon, 
You may be able to catch something of what he says. His 
mind is clearer. Come. He is calling for you” — 

The Princess Mariya’s heart beat so violently at this news 
that she turned pale and leaned up against the door lest she 
should fall. To see him, to speak with him, to come under 
the power of his eyes now when her soul had just been full of 
these terrible, criminal, sinful temptations was too painful a 
union of joy and horror. 

“Come,” said the doctor. : 

The princess went to her father’s room and approached his 
bed. He was lying propped high up, with his small, bony 
hands covered with knotted purple veins resting on the 
counterpane, with his left eye straight as it always had been, 
and with his right eye drawn down, though now his brows and 
lips were motionless. He was the same little lean, weazened, 
pitiful old man. His face seemed all shrivelled, so that the 
features seemed to be without character or coherence. The 
Princess Mariya approached him and kissed his hand. His 
left hand gave her hand a returning pressure that made it 
evident he had been for some time expecting her. He held 
her hand,‘and his brows and lips moved impatiently. 

She looked at him in terror, striving to get an inkling of 
what he desired of her. When she changed her‘position and 





WAK AND PEACE. 149 


‘moved so that he could see her face with his left eye, he 
seemed satisfied and for several seconds did not let her out of 
his sight. Then his brows and lips quivered; he uttered 
‘sounds and began to speak, looking at her timidly and suppli- 
‘eatingly, evidently apprehensive that she would not under- 
stand him. 

The Princess Mariya, concentrating all her powers of atten- 
tion, looked at him. The comic difficulty he had in managing 
his tongue caused her to drop her eyes and made it hard for 
her to choke down the sobs that rose in her throat. He said 
‘something, several times repeating his words. The Princess 
‘Mariya could not understand them, but in her attempts to 
‘get at the gist of what he said she uttered several sentences 
‘questioningly. 

“ Gaga — boi — boi” —he repeated several times. It was 
‘impossible to make any sense out of those sounds. The doc- 
‘tor thought that he had found the clew, and, trying to come 
the nearest to those sounds, asked: “Do you mean, Is the 
princess * afraid?” He shook his head and again repeated 
‘the same sounds. 

_ “His mind, his mind troubles him!” + suggested the prin- 
cess. He uttered a sort of roar by way of affirmation, seized 
her hand and pressed it here and there on his chest, as though 
trying to find a place suitable for it to rest. 

“ Think — all —the time — about — thee,” he then said far 
‘more distinctly than before,—now that he was persuaded 
that they understood him. The Princess Mariya bowed her 
head down to his hand to hide her sobs and tears. 

He smoothed her hair. “I was —calling thee —all night,” 
he went on saying. 

“Tf I had only known,” said she through her tears. “I 
was afraid to come in.” 

He pressed her hand. “Were you not asleep ?” 

“No, I was not asleep,” replied the princess, shaking her 

‘head. Falling under the influence of her father’s condition, 
‘she now, in spite of herself, had to speak, as he did, more by 
signs, and almost found it difficult to manage her tongue. 
- “Darling,” {—or did he say little daughter ?—she could 
‘not tell, — but she was assured by his look that he had called 
her some affectionate, caressing name, which he had never 
‘before done, — “why didn’t you come in?” 





, * Knyazhnya boitsa. 
t Disha, dusha bolit. 
{ Dushenka, (little soul) or Druzhék, diminutive of friend or love. 


150 WAR AND PEACE. 


“ And I was wishing him dead, wishing him dead,” thought 
the Princess Mariya. 

He lay silent. “Thank thee —daughter, dearest — for all, 
for everything. — Forgive. — Thank thee — forgive — thank 
thee!” ‘And the tears trickled from his eyes. — ‘‘Call An- 
dryusha,” said he suddenly, and, making this request, a child- — 
ishly puzzled and distrustful expression came into his face. 
It seemed as though he himself knew that there was some- 
thing out of the way about this request. So at least it seemed 
to the Princess Mariya. 

“T have had a letter from him,” replied the Princess Mariya. 
He gazed at her in puzzled amazement. 

‘Where is.he? ” 

“He is with the army, mon pére, at Smolensk.” 

He closed his eyes and remained long silent. Then he 
opened his eyes and nodded his head affirmatively as though 
in answer to his own doubts, as much as to say that now he 
understood and remembered everything. 

“Yes,” said he in a low but distinct voice.. “Russia is 
ruined, lost! They have ruined her!” And again he sobbed 
and the tears rolled down his cheeks. The Princess Mariya 
could no longer contain herself, and she also wept as she looked 
into his face. . 

He again closed his eyes. His sobs ceased. He made a 
gesture toward his eyes with his hand, and Tikhon, understand- 
ing what he meant, wiped his eyes for him. ‘Then he opened 
his eyes and made some remark which no one for some time 
understood: at last Tikhon made out what he had said, and 
said it over after him. The Princess Mariya had been trying 
to connect the sense of his words with what he had just 
before been speaking about. She thought he might be speak- 
ing either of Russia, or of Prince Andrei, or of herself, or of 
his grandson, or of his own death. 

And consequently she could not make it out. “Put on 
your white dress; I like it,” was what he had said. 

On hearing this, the Princess Mariya sobbed still more 
violently ; and the doctor, taking her by the arm, led her from 
the room, out upon the terrace, telling her to calm herself and 
then finish the preparations for the departure. After his 
daughter had left him he again spoke about his son, about the 
war, about the sovereign, and scowled angrily, and tried to 
raise his hoarse voice, and then came the second and finishing 
stroke. 

The Princess Mariya had remained on the terrace. The 


WAR AND PEACE. nS 


weather was now clear; it was sunny and hot. She found it 
impossible to realize anything, or to think of anything, or to 
feel anything, except her passionate love for her father, a love 
which, it seemed to her, she had never felt until that moment. 
She ran into the park, and, still sobbing, hastened down to 
the pond, along the avenues of lindens that her brother had 
recently planted. 

we Yes — I — 1 —I wished for his death. Yes, I wished it 
to end quickly ! —I wanted to rest. — But what will become 
of me? What peace shall I ever find when he is gone?” 
muttered the princess, aloud, as she walked through the park 
with swift steps and beat her breast, which was heaving with 
convulsive sobs. - : 

_ After having made the round of the park, which brought her 
back to the house again, she saw Mademoiselle Bourienne — 
who had remained at Bogucharovo, and had refused to go 
away — coming toward her, in company with a man whom she 
did not recognize. This was the district predvodityel, who 
had come in person toimpress upon the princess the impera- 
tive need of their immediate departure. 

_ The Princess Mariya heard what he said, but his words had 
no meaning for her: she conducted him into the house, asked 
him to remain to breakfast, and sat down with him. Then, 
excusing herself, she went to the old prince’s door. The doc- 
tor, with a frightened face, came to her, and said she could not 
goin. “Retire, princess; go away, go away!” 

The princess went into the park again, and down the slope 
to the pond, and threw herself on the turf, where no one could 
see her. She- knew not how long she remained there. 
Women’s steps running along the avenue roused her from her 
revery. She got up and saw her maid Dunyasha, who was 
evidently in search of her, suddenly stop with a terrified face 
at sight of her mistress. 

“Please, princess —the prince’””— stammered Dunyasha, 
in a broken voice. ‘ 

“ Instantly — I am coming — I am coming,” cried the prin- 
cess, not giving Dunyasha time to finish telling what she had 
to say, and ran to the house, trying not to look at the 
maid. 

__ “Princess, God’s will is done; you must be prepared for 
the worst,” said the predvodityel, who met her at the door- 
way. 
“Leave me! It is false!” she cried, angrily. 

The doctor tried to hold her back. She pushed him away, 


4 


153 WAR AND PEACE. 


and ran into the room. “Why do these people look so 
frightened ? Why do they try to keep me away? Ido not 
need them. What are they doing here ?” 

She opened the door, and the bright sunlight in the room 
that a short time ago had been kept so dark filled her with 
terror. The old nyanya and other women were busy in the 
room. They all moved away from the bed, and made room 
for her to approach. He still lay on the same bed; but the 
stern aspect of his face, calm in death, rooted the Princess 
Mariya to the threshold. 

“No! he is not dead! It cannot be!” said the Princess 
Mariya to herself; she went to him, and, overcoming the hor- 
ror which seized her, she pressed her lips to his cheek. But 
instantly she recoiled from the bed. Suddenly all the affec- 
tion for him which she had just felt so powerfully vanished, 
and instead came a feeling of horror for what was before 
her. 

“No! he is no more! Heis gone! And in his place here, 
where he was, is this strange and unfriendly thing; this 
frightful, blood-curdling, repulsive mystery !” 

And, covering her face with her hands, the Princess Mariya 
fell into the arms of the doctor, who was there to catch her. 


Under the superintendence of Tikhon and the doctor, the 
women laved that which had been the prince; they tied a 
handkerchief around his head, so that his jaw might not 
stiffen with the mouth open, and they bound together his legs 
with another handkerchief. Then they dressed him in his 
uniform, with his orders, and laid out his little weazened body 
on a table. God knows under whose direction and at what 
time all this was accomplished, but everything seemed to be 
done of itself. | 

By night the candles were burning around the coffin, the 
pall was laid over it; juniper was strewn upon the floor; a 
printed prayer was placed under the wrinkled head of the 
dead, and in the room sat the diach6ok reading the psalter. — 

Just as horses shy and crowd together and neigh at the 
sight of a dead horse, so in the drawing-room, around the 
coffin of the dead prince, gathered a throng of strangers and 
the members of the household, —the predvodityel, and the 
starosta, and the peasant women, — and all, with staring eyes 
and panic-stricken, crossed themselves and bowed low and 
kissed the aged prince’s cold, stiff hand. 


4 | WAR AND PEACE. 153 


CHAPTER IX. 
{ : 

Untit Prince Andrei went to reside at Bogucharovo, the 
place had always been an “absentee” estate, and the peas- 
antry bore an entirely different character from those of Luisiya 
Gorui. They differed in speech and in dress and in customs. 
They called themselves “children of the steppe.” The old 
‘prince praised them for their endurance in work when they 
same over to Luisiya Gorui to help get,in the crops or dig out 
the pond and ditches; but he did not like them, because of 
their boorishness. 
| Their manners had not been softened since Prince Andrei’s 
last residence there, in spite of his dispensaries and schools, 
wd the lightening of the obrok or quit-rent; on the contrary, 
those traits of character which the old prince called boorish- 
ness seemed to have been intensified. Strange, obscure 
rumors were always finding credence among them; at one 
time they got the notion that they were all to be enrolled as 
Uossacks ; another time, it wasa new religion which they were 
50 be forced to accept; then, again, there was talk about certain 
imperial dispensations ; then, at the time they took the oath 
af allegiance to Paul Petrovitch, in 1797, they got the notion 
shat their freedom had been granted them, but that their mas- 
jers had deprived them of it; and, again, it was the return 
yf Peter Feodorovitch * to the throne, who would be tsar in 
seven years, and give them absolute freedom, so that every- 
hing would be simple and easy, and they would haye no laws 
vt all. 

The rumors of the war and of Napoleon and his invasion 

were connected in their minds with obscure notions of Anti- 
shrist, the end of the world, and perfect freedom. 
In the vicinity of Bogucharovo were a number of large vil- 
‘ages, belonging to the crown or to non-resident proprietors. 
(t was very rarely that these proprietors came to reside on 
heir estates: there were also very few domestic serfs, or 
deople who knew how to read and write; and the lives of the 
Jeasantry of this region were more noticeably and powerfully 
ilfected than elsewhere by those mysterious currents character- 
‘stic of the common people in Russia, the significance and 
vauses of which are so inexplicable to contemporaries. 

A phenomenon which illustrates this had taken place a 


* Peter IIT, 


154 WAR AND PEACE. 


score of years before, when an exodus of the peasantry was 
made toward certain “hot rivers.” Hundreds of peasants, 
including some from Bogucharovo, suddenly sold their cattle 
and set off with their families « somewhere ” toward the south. 
east. Just as birds fly ‘“‘ somewhere” across the sea, so these 
men, with their wives and children, made every endeavor to 
reach that unknown Southeast, where none of them had ever 
been before. They marched in caravans; here and there one 
bought his freedom ; others ran away, and set forth in wagons 
or on foot for the “hot rivers”! Many were caught and pun- 
ished; many were sent to Siberia; many perished of cold and 
starvation on the ro ad; many re sturned ‘of their own accord ; 
and, at last, this migration died out of itself, just as it had 
begun, — without any visible reason. But these underground 
currents ceased not to flow among this people, and they were 
gathering impetus for some new outbreak, likely to prove just 
as perplexing, as unexpected, and, at the same time, as simple, 
natural, and violent. 

At the present time, in 1812, any man whose life brought 
him in contact with the people might have observed that these 
hidden currents were working with extraordinary energy, and 
were all ready for an eruption. 

Alpatuitch, who had arrived at Bogucharovo some little 
time before the old prince’s decease, had observed that there 
was considerable excitement among the peasantry: while in the 
region of Luisiya Gorui — only sixteen versts distant — all 
the peasants had deserted their homes, leaving their villages 
to be marauded by the Cossacks; here, on the contrary, in 
the “Steppe” belt, in the region of Bogucharovo, the peas- 
antry, so the report ran, had dealings with the French, were in 
receipt of certain papers which were circulating among them, 
and had no thought of leaving their homes. | 

He knew, through certain of the household serfs who were 
faithful to him, that a muzhik named Karp, who had great 
influence over the mir, or peasant commune, had lately 
returned from driving a crown wagon-train, and was spreading 
the report that the Cossacks were ravaging the villages that 
had been deserted by their inhabitants, while the French were 
not touching them. | 

He was informed on good authority that another muzhik, 
the evening before, had brought from the village of Vislo- 
ukhovo, where the French were, a proclamation from a French 
general, representing to the inhabitants that no harm would be 
done to them, and that cash should be paid for whatever was 








WAR AND PEACE. 155 


taken, provided they remained in their homes. As proof posi- 
tive of this, the muzhik brought with him from Vislo-vikhovo 
a hundred rubles in assignats— he did not know that they 
‘were counterfeit — which had been paid to him for his hay. 

Finally, and more important than all, Alpatuitch found that 
on that very day when he had commanded the starosta to pro- 
cure wagons for the conveyance of the princess’s effects from 
‘Bogucharovo, the peasants had held a morning meeting in 
‘the village, at which it had been voted that they should not 
stir from the place, but wait. And meantime there was no 
time to lose. : 

The predvodityel, on the very day on which the prince had 
died, — the twenty-seventh, — had come to urge the princess 
to depart without further delay, as the risk was erowing con- 
Stantly moreimminent. He had declared that after the twenty- 
eighth he would not be responsible for the consequences. 
That same evening, after the prince’s demise, he had gone 
away, promising to be present at the funeral on the next day. 
But on the next day it was impossible for him to be present, 
since news had been brought to him of an unexpected 
approach of the French, and he had barely time to remove his 
own family and valuables from his estate. 

For thirty years, Dron, whom the old prince always called 
by the affectionate diminutive, Drénushka, had exercised the 
functions of starosta, or bailiff, at Bogucharovo. 

Dron was one of those muzhiks — powerful, physically and 
morally — who, as soon as they come to years of discretion, 
3row a patriarchal beard, and live on without change till they 
are sixty or seventy years old, without a gray hair or the loss 
of a tooth, just as erect and powerful at sixty as they were at 
shirty. | 
__Dron, shortly after his returning from his expedition to the 
‘hot rivers,” in which he had taken part, had been made strosta- 
ourmistr, or bailiff headman of the village of Bogucharovo; 
and, since that time, he had performed without reproach all 
she functions of that office. The muzhiks feared him more 
han they feared their barin. His masters— both the old 
orince and the young prince —respected him, and, in jest, 
walled him “minister.” During all the time of his service, 
‘Dron had never once been drunk or sick. N ever, even after sleep- 
ess nightstor after the most exhausting labors, was he known 
Jo show the slightest slothfulness, and, though he did not know 
ns letters, he never made the slightest mistakes in his money 
‘ecounts, or as to the number of poods of flour which he 


: 





156 WAR AND PEACE. 


earried in monstrous loads and sold, or as to the amount of a 
single rick of corn harvested in the fields of Bogucharovo. 

Alpatuitch, on his arrival from the devastated Luisiya Gorul, 
summoned this Dron, on the very day of the funeral, and 
ordered him to have ready a dozen horses for the princess’s 
conveyance, and eighteen teams for the luggage which she was 
to take with her from Bogucharovo. Although the peasantry | 
paid an obrok or quit-rent, Alpatuitch never dreamed that. 
there would be any difficulty in having this order carried out, 
since the villages contained two hundred and thirty taxable 
households, and the muzhiks were well-to-do. 

But the starosta, Dron, on receiving this order, dropped his 
eyes and made no answer. Alpatuitch named certain peasants 
whom he knew, and ordered him to make the requisitions on 
them. 

Dron replied that these men’s horses were off on carrier 
duty. Alpatuitch named still other muzhiks. And these 
men, also, according to Dron, had no horses: some were off 
with the government trains; others were out of condition; 
still others had lost theirs through lack of forage. According 
to Dron’s report, it. was impossible to secure horses for the car- 
riages, to say nothing of those for the baggage-wagons. 

Alpatuitch looked sharply at the starosta and scowled. In 
the same way as Dron was a model of what a peasant starosta 
should be, in the same way Alpatuitch had not managed the 
prince’s estates for nothing all those twenty years, and he 
also was a model overseer. He was in the highest degree 
qualified to understand, as by a sort of scent, the wants and 
instincts of the people with whom he had to do, and this made 
him a surpassingly excellent overseer. He knew by a single 
elance at Dron, that Dron’s answers were not the expression 
of Dron’s individual opinions, but merely the expression of | 
the general disposition of the Bogucharovo commune, in 
which the starosta was evidently involved. But, at the same 
time, he knew that Dron, who had grown rich and was hated 
by the commune, must necessarily waver between the two 
camps, the peasants’ and the master’s. This wavering he 
could detect in his eyes, and, therefore, Alpatuitch, with a 
frown, drew near to Dron. | 

“Listen, you, Drénushka!” said he. “You need not tell 
me idle tales. His Illustriousness Prince Andrei Nikolaiteh 
himself gave me orders that all the peasantry should leave, 
and not remain behind with the enemy; and those are the 
tsar’s orders also. So any one who stays is a traitor to the 
tsar. Do you hear ? ” 


WAR AND PEACE. 157 


“Yes, I hear,” replied Dron, not raising his eyes. 
_ Alpatuitch was not satisfied with this answer. 
/Ah! Dron! [1] will come of it!” exclaimed Alpatuitch, 
haking his head. | 
“You have the power,” returned Dron mournfully. 
“Ah, Dron! Give it up!” exclaimed Alpatuitch, taking his 
and out from the breast of his coat, and, with a solemn ges- 
are, pointing under Dron’s feet. “ Not only dol see through 
nd through you, but I can see three arshins under you: every- 
aing there is,” said he, looking down at Dron’s feet. 
Dron grew confused ; he gave Alpatuitch a fleeting look, and 
ben dropped his eyes again. 
“Stop all this nonsense, and tell the people to get ready to 
pave for Moscow, and have the teams ready to-morrow morn- 
ig for the princess, and mind you don’t attend any more of 
feir meetings! Do you hear?” 
Dron suddenly threw himself at his feet. 

“Yakof Alpatuitch! discharge me! Take the keys from 
1e¢! discharge me, for Christ’s sake!” 
““Stop!” said Alpatuitch sternly. “TI can see three arshins 
ieep under you!” he repeated, knowing that his skill in going 
{ter bees, his knowledge of the times and seasons for sowing, 
od the fact that for a score of years he had succeeded in satis- 
ying the old prince, had long ago given him the reputation of 
eing a koldoon, or wizard, and that to koldoons was. attrib- 
ted the power of seeing three arshins under a man. 
Dron got to his feet, and tried to say something, but Alpa- 
atch interrupted him. , 
-“Come now ! What is your idea in all this? Ha? What 
ité you dreaming of ? Ha?” 

“What shall I do with the people?” asked Dron. “They 
ce all stirred up! And, besides, 1 have told them.” 
( “ What’s the good of telling them?” he asked. “ Are they 
vunk?” he demanded laconically. 
' “All stirred up, Yakof Alpatuitch! ‘They have just brought 
nother cask !” | 
_ “Now, then, listen! I will go to the ispravnik, and you 
asten back to the people, and bid them quit all this sort of 
ung, and get ready the teams.” 
- “J obey,” replied Dron. 
' Yakof Alpatuitch insisted on nothing more. He had been 
‘ control of the people too long not to know that the principal 
‘ay of bringing the people to subordination was not to show 
ne slightest doubt that they would become subordinate. 


, 





158 WAR AND PEACE. : 
























Having wrung from Dron the submissive “ slushayu-s, — I 
obey,” — Yakof Alpatuitch contented himself with that, 
although he not merely suspected, but was even certain in his 
own mind, that, without the assistance of a squad of militia, 
nothing would be done. | 

And, in point of fact, there were no teams forthcoming, as 
he supposed. Another meeting of the peasantry was held at 
the village tavern; and this meeting voted to drive the horses 
out into the woods and not to furnish the teams. Saying 
nothing of all this to the princess, Alpatuitch gave orders to 
have the carts that had brought his own effects from Luisiya 
Gorui unloaded, and to have his horses put to the Princess 
Mariya’s carriage, and he himself went to consult with the 
authorities. | 


CHAPTER X. 


Tur Princess Mariya, after her father’s funeral, shut her- 
self up in her room, and admitted no one. Her maid came to 
the door to say that Alpatuitch was there to learn her wishes 
in regard to the departure. (This-was before his interview 
with Dron.) ‘The princess sat up on the sofa where she 
had been lying, and spoke through the closed door, declaring 
that she would never go away anywhere, and asked her to 
leave her in peace. 

The windows of the room which the Princess Mariya oceu- 
pied faced the south. She lay on the sofa, with her face 
turned toward the wall, and picking with her fingers at th 
- buttons on the leathern cushion, which was the only thing that 
she could see, while her vague thoughts were concentrated on 
one thing: she was thinking about the unavoidableness © 
death and of her own moral baseness, which had now been re 
vealed to her for the first time in its manifestation during her 
father’s illness. She wanted but she dared not to pray; sh 
dared not, in that state of mind in which she found herself 
to turn to God in prayer. Long she lay in that position. 

The sun had gone round to the other side of the house, an 
its slanting afternoon beams, which fell through the opene 
windows, lighted up the room and lay on the cushion at which 
she was looking. The train of sombre thoughts suddenl} 
ceased. She instinctively sat up, smoothed her hair, got t@ 
her feet, and went to the window, where, without thinking, 
she filled her lungs with the cool air of the bright but wind 
afternoon. 


WAR AND PEACE. 159 


| “Yes, now you can enjoy your fill of the evening! He is 
zone, and no one is here to interfere with you,’ said she to 
aerself, and, dropping into a chair, leaned her head on the 
iwindow-seat. Some one, in a soft, affectionate voice, called her 
lame from the park side of the window, and kissed her on the 
ead. She looked up. 

‘It was Mademoiselle Bourienne, in a black dress trimmed 
with white. She had softly approached the Princess Mariya, 
assed her with a sigh, and immediately burst into tears. 
The princess looked at her. All her previous. collisions with 
ier, her jealousy of her, came back to her remembrance; she 
ilso remembered how he of late had changed toward Mad- 
»moiselle Bourienne, could not even bear to see her, and 
sonsequently how unjust had been the reproaches with which 
ihe Princess Mariya had loaded her. ‘“ Yes, and can I, I who 
lave just been wishing for his death, can I judge any one 
Ise ?” she asked herself. 

The Princess Mariya had a keen sense of Mademoiselle Bou- 
jenne’s trying situation, held by her at a distance, and yet at 
she same time dependent upon her, and dwelling under a stran- 
yer’s roof. And she-began to feel a pity for her. She looked 
wt her with a sweet, questioning look, and stretched out her 
vand. Mademoiselle Bourienne immediately had a fresh par- 
mxysm of tears, began to kiss the princess’s hand, and to speak 
f the affliction that had come upon her, and claimed to be a 
‘ympathizer in that affliction. She declared that her only 
‘onsolation in this sorrow was that the princess allowed her 
0 share it with her. She said that all their previous mis- 
inderstandings ought to be forgotten in presence of this terri- 
le loss, that she felt that her conscience was clear before all 
‘fen, and that he from above would bear witness to her love 
nd gratitude. | 
The princess listened to her without comprehending what 
he was saying, but she looked at her from time to time, and 
‘eard the sounds of her voice. 

“Your position is doubly terrible, dear princess,” said Mad- 
‘moiselle Bourienne, after ashort silence. “I understand how 
‘Cis that you could not have thought—that you cannot 
‘hink about yourself; but, from the love which I bear you, I 
m compelled to do so for you. — Has Alpatuitch been to see 
‘ou? Has he said anything to you about going away ?” she 
‘sked. . 

' The Princess Mariya made'no reply. She could not realize 
yho was going away or where it was. 








160 WAR AND PEACE. 4 


et Why undertake anything just now? Why think of any- 
thing? What difference does it make?” She made no 
answer. | 

“Do you know, chére Marie,” asked Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne, — “do you know that we are in peril, that we are sur- 
rounded by the French? It is dangerous to go now. If we 
were to start, we should almost certainly be taken prisoner, 
and God knows ” 

The Princess Mariya looked at her friend without compre- 
hending what she was saying. | 

éé Akh! ! if you could only know how little, how little I care. 
now,” said she. “Of course, I should: never wish such a 
thing as to go away and leave him. — Alpatuitch said some- 
thing to me about going ay ig — Talk it over with him; 1 
cannot and I will not hear ” 

“T have spoken with him. Mise hopes that we shall be able 
to get away to-morrow ; but it is my opinion that we had 
better remain here now,” said Mademoiselle _Bourienne. 








into the. ate of the ee or insurgent peasants would be 
horrible.” 
Mademoiselle Bourienne drew forth from her reticule a 
proclamation — printed on paper different from that used 
generally in Russia—from the French general Rameau, 
in which the inhabitants were advised not to abandon their’ : 
homes, since full protection would be vouchsafed them by the 
French authorities ; this she handed to the princess. . 
“JT think it would be better to apply to this general,” sant 
Mademoiselle Bourienne. “And I am convinced that we 
should be treated with due consideration.” : 
The Princess Mariya read the paper, and her face contracted 
with a sort of tearless sob. 
“From whom did you get this ?” she demanded. 
“ They probably knew that I am French from my name,’ 
said Mademoiselle Bourienne, with a blush. 
The princess, with the paper in her hand, got up from the 
window, and with a blanched face left the room, and went 
into Prince Andrei’s cabinet, which adjoined. : 
“ Dunyasha, summon Alpatuitch, Drénushka, any one,” ex- 
claimed the Princess Mariya, “and tell Amalie Karlovna not 
to come near me,” she added, hearing Mademoiselle Bouri- 
enne’s voice. “Go quick ! quick 1? ” exclaimed the Princess 
Mariya, panic-stricken at the thought that she might be Ten 
in the power of the French, 





| WAR AND PEACE. 161 


© What if Prince Andrei knew that she were under the pro- 
ection of the French! That she, the daughter of Prince 
Nikolai Andreyitch Bolkonsky, had asked General Rameau to 
jrant her his protection, and put herself under obligations for 
yenefits received from him !” 

' The mere suggestion of such a thing filled her with horror, 
‘nade her shudder, turn red, and feel still more violently than 
iver before those impulses of anger and outraged pride. 

. She now vividly realized all the difficulties, and, above all, 
he humiliations of her position. 

_ & They — the French — will take possession of this house ; 
WL le général Rameau will make use of Prince Andrei’s cabi- 
iet; for their amusement they will ransack and read his 
etters and papers. Mademoiselle Bourienne lui fera les hon- 
veurs de Bogucharovo! ‘They will out of special favor grant 
ne a sleeping-room ; the soldiers will tear open my father’s 
ewly made grave in order to rob him of his crosses and stars ; 
hey will boast before me of their victories over the Russians, 
hey will pretend to sympathize in my grief,’ thought the 
2rincess Mariya, and these were not her own thoughts, but 
he felt herself compelled to think as her father and brother 
vould have thought. 

For her personally it was a matter of utter indifference 
vhere she staid or what happened to her; but at the same 
ime she felt that she was the representative of her late father 
md of Prince Andrei. She could not help thinking these 
houghts and feeling these feelings. Whatever they would 
iave said, whatever they would have done, now this she felt 
hat it was indispensable for her to do. She went into Prince 
indrei’s cabinet, and, in her endeavors to follow out what 
vould be his ideas, she reviewed her position. 

The demands of life, which she had felt had been annihi- 
ated at the moment of her father’s death, suddenly, with new, 
ever-before-experienced violence, rushed up before her, and 
ook possession of her. 

Flushed with excitement, she walked up and down the 
‘oom, summoning first Alpatuitch, then Mikhail Ivanovitch, 
hen Tikhon, then Dron. Dunyasha, the old nyanya, and all 
he maids were equally unable to say how far Mademoiselle 
Sourienne was correct in what she had declared. Alpatuitch 
‘vas not at home; he had gone to consult with the authorities. 
‘Mikhail Ivanuitch, the architect, on being summoned, came 
‘ato the Princess Mariya’s presence with sleepy eyes, and 
ould tell her absolutely nothing. He replied to her questions 
/ VOL. 3. — 11. 


162 WAR AND PEACE. | 
with precisely the same non-committal smile with which for 
fifteen years he had been in the habit of dealing with the old 
prince, and she could get nothing definite from his replies. 

Then the old valet Tikhon was called, and with a downcast 
and impassive face, bearing all the symptoms of incurable woe, 
he replied to all her questions with his “slushayu-s —I obey,” 
and could scarcely refrain from sobbing as he looked at her. 

At last the starosta Dron came into the room, and, making 
her a low obeisance, stood respectfully at the threshold. 

The Princess Mariya glided through the room and paused | 
in front of him. 

“ Drénushka!” said she, seeing in him an undoubted friend, 
the same Drénushka who had always brought home pieces of 
gingerbread with him from his trips to the yarmarka or 
annual bazaar at Viasma, and presented to her with a smile. — 
“Drénushka! now, since our sad loss,’— She began and 
then paused, unable to proceed. : 

“All our goings are under God,” said he with a sigh. 
Neither spoke. 

“Dronushka! Alpatuitch has gone; I have no one to turn 
to; is it true, what I am told, that we cannot get away ?” 

“Not get away? Certainly you can get away, princess,” 
said Dron. : 

“They tell me there is danger from the enemy. My friend,* 
I am helpless, I don’t understand anything about it, I am 
entirely alone. I decidedly wish to start to-night or to-morrow 
morning early.” 

Dron made no sound. He looked from under his brows at 
the princess. 

“No horses,” said he at last, “and I have told Yakof Al 
patuitch so.” 

‘How is that?” demanded the princess. 

“Tt is God’s punishment,” said Dron; “what horses we had. 
have been taken by the troops, and the rest have perished. 
That’s the way it is this year. ’T'wouldn’t so much matter 
about feeding the horses, if we ourselves weren’t perishing .oi 
starvation. Often for three days at a time we go without u 
bite. We have nothing at all; we are utterly ruined.” 

The Princess Mariya listened attentively to what he said. 

“The peasantry are ruined? You say they have no corn ?”’ 
she asked. 

“They are perishing of famine,” said Dron. “And as for 
teams ” — 

* Golubchik. 


WAk AND PEACE. 163 


_ “But why haven’t you told me of this before, Drénushka ? 
yan’t they be helped? I will do all in my power” — 

_It was strange for the Princess Mariya to think that now, 
uw this moment when her heart was filled with such sorrow, 
here could be poor men and rich, and that the rich did not 
ielp the poor. She had a general notion that when the mas- 
iers had a reserve of corn, it was distributed among the serfs. 
She knew also that neither her father nor her brother would 
‘efuse to help the peasantry in case of need; all that she 
‘eared was that she might make some blunder in speaking 
vbout this distribution of corn which she was anxious to 
nake. She was glad of some pretext for active work: some- 
thing that would allow her without pangs of conscience to 
‘orget her own sorrow. She proceeded to interrogate Dron- 
ishka in regard to the necessities of the muzhiks and the 
store of reserve corn belonging to the estate at Bogucharovo. 
“We have corn belonging to the estate; have we not, 
wother ?” she demanded. 

_“The master’s corn is untouched,” said Dron with pride. 
‘Our prince had not ordered it to be sold.” 

“Give that to the peasantry; give them all they need. I 
srant it in my brother’s name,” said the Princess Mariya. 

Dron made no reply and drew a long sigh. 

“You give them this corn, if there is enough for them. 
xive it all to them. I order it in my brother’s name, and tell 
hem: ‘ What is ours is always theirs.’ We shall not grudge 
tfor them. Tell them so.” 

Dron looked steadily at the princess while she was saying this. 

“Discharge me, matushka, for God’s sake; order the keys 
0 ke taken from me,” said he. “I have been in service for 
wenty-three years! J have never done anything dishonest; 
lischarge me, for God’s sake!” 

The Princess Mariya could not understand what he wanted 
af her, or why he wished to be relieved of his office. She re- 
lied that she had never conceived a doubt of his devotion, and 
hat she was always ready to do anything for him or for any of 
he muzhiks. 


CHAPTER XI. 


_ Aw hour later Dunyasha came to the princess with the 
ews that Dron was there, and that all the muzhiks had col- 
ected in accordance with the princess’s orders at the granary, 
md wished to have speech with their mistress. 


r 


164 WAR AND PEACE. 


“But I never called them,” said the Princess Mariya; “J 
merely told Dronushka to give them corn.” 

“Then, for God’s sake, princess-matushka, order them to 
disperse and don’t go to them. ‘They are deceiving you,” ex- 
claimed Dunyasha. ‘“ Yakof Alpatuitch will soon be back, and 
then we will go—and don’t you allow ” — 

“How are they deceiving me?” asked the princess in 
amazement. 

“But I am certain of it! Only heed my words, for God’s 
sake. Just ask nurse here. They declare they will not go 
away at your orders.” 

“You have got it entirely wrong. — Besides, I have never 
ordered them to go away,” said the Princess Mariya. “Fetch 
Droénushka.” 

Dron came in and confirmed what Dunyasha said: the 
muzhiks had assembled at the princess’s orders. 

‘But I never summoned them,” said the princess. “You 
did not give my message correctly. I only told you to give 
them corn.” 

Dron made no reply; merely sighed. 

“Tf you order it they will disperse,” said he. 

“No, no, I will go to them,” said the princess. 

In spite of the persuasion of Dunyasha and the old nyanya, 
the Princess Mariya went down the steps. Drénushka, Dun- 
yasha, the old nyanya, and Mikhail Ivanuitch followed her. 

“They apparently think that I give them the corn so that 
they should stay at home, while I myself am going away, 
abandoning them to the mercy of the French,” thought the 
Princess Mariya. “But I will promise them rations and 
quarters at our pod-Moskovnaya; I am sure André would do 
even more in my place,” she said to herself as she went 
toward the throng that had gathered in the twilight on the 
green near the granary. ‘i 

The throng showed some signs of confusion, and moved and 
swayed a little, and hats were removed as she approached. 
The Princess Mariya, with downeast eyes, and getting her 
feet entangled in her dress, went toward them. So many dit- 
ferent eyes from faces young and old were fixed upon her, and 
so many different people were collected, that the princess did 
not distinguish any particular person; and, as she felt that it 
was requisite for her to address them all at once, she did not 
know how to set about it. But once more the consciousness 
that she was the representative of her father and brother gave 
her courage, and she boldly began to speak. 


WAR AND PEACE. 165 


“Tam very glad that you came,” she began, not raising her 
yes, and conscious of her heart beating fast and strong. 
‘Dronushka told me that you were ruined by the war. That 
§ our common misfortune, and I shall spare no endeavor to 
ielp you. I myself am going away because it is dangerous 
ere —and the enemy are near — because —I will give you 
werything, friends, and I beg of-you to take all, all our corn, 
0 that you may not suffer from want. And if you have been 
old that I distribute the corn among you so as to keep you 
1ere, that is a falsehood. On the contrary, I beg of you to go 
vith all your possessions to our pod-Moskovnaya, and I will 
mgage and promise that you shall not suffer. You shall be 
tiven homes and provisions.” 

The princess paused. In the throng sighs were heard, and 
hat was all. 

_“J do not give this of myself,” continued the princess, “ but 
do it in the name of my late father, who was a good barin to 
ou, and in behalf of my brother and his son.” 

'Sheagain paused. Noone broke in upon her silence. “ Our 
aisfortune is universal, and we will share everything together. 
\ll that is mineis yours,” said she, gazing at the faces ranged 
a front of her. 

All eyes were fixed on her with one expression, the signifi- 
ance of which she could not riddle. Whether it were curios- 
by, devotion, gratitude, or fear, or distrust, that expression, 
rhatever it was, was the same in all. 

“Very grateful for your kindness, but we don’t want to take 
he master’s corn,” said a voice in the rear of the throng. 

“Yes, but why not ?” asked the princess. 

No one replied, and the Princess Mariya, glancing around the 
hrong, observed that now all eyes which met hers immedi- 
tely turned away. 

“Why are you unwilling?” she asked again. 
_ No one replied. 
_ The Princess Mariya felt awkward at this silence. She tried 
0 catch some one’s eye. 
“Why don’t you speak ?’”’ demanded the princess, address- 
ag an aged man, who, leaning on his cane, was standing in 
tont of her. “Tell me if you think that anything else is 
eeded. I will do everything for you,” said she, as she caught 
is eye. But he, as though annoyed by this, hung his head 
nd muttered, — 
_ “ Why should we? We don’t want your corn.” 

“What! us abandon everything? We don’t agree to it.” — 


166 WAR AND PEACE. 


“We don’t agree to it.” — “ Not with our consent.” — “ We are 
sorry, but it sha’n’t be done with our consent.” — “Go off by 
yourself alone!” rang out from the mob on different sides. 
And again all the faces of the throng had one and the same 
expression; but this time it was assuredly not curiosity or 
gratitude, but one of angry, obstinate resolution. 

“Oh, but you have not understood me,” exclaimed the Prin: 
cess Mariya, with a melancholy smile. “Why are you unwill 
ing to go? I promise to give you new homes and feed you. 
But if you stay here the enemy will ruin you.” But her voice 
was drowned by the voices of the mob. 

“Not with our consent. Let him destroy us. We won't 
touch your corn. Not with our consent.” 

The Princess Mariya tried again to catch the eyes of some 
other person in the crowd; but not one was directed toward 
her: their eyes evidently avoided her. She felt strange, and 
ill at ease. 7 : 

“There, now! she’s ashrewd one. Follow her to prison. 
They want to get our houses, and make serfs of us again — 
the idea! We won’t touch your corn,” rang the various 
voices. : 

The Princess Mariya, hanging her head, left the crowd, and 
went back to the house. Reiterating her orders to Dron to 
have the horses ready against their departure the next day, 
she went to her room and remained alone with her thoughts. 





CHAPTER XII. : 





Tue Princess Mariya sat long that night beside her open 
window in her.room, listening to the hubbub of voices which 
came up to her from the peasant village; and yet she was not 
thinking of them. She felt that the more she thought about 
them, the less she should understand them. Her mind was 
concentrated on one thing: her affliction, which now, after the 
interruption caused by her labors in connection with the 
present situation, seemed already far in the past. She could 
now think calmly, could weep, and could pray. 

With the sunset the breeze had died down. The night was 
calm and cool. By twelve o’clock the voices began to grow 
still; a cock crew; the full moon began to rise up from behind 
the lindens; a cool, white dew-mist arose, and peace reigned 
over the village and over the house. : 

One after the other passed before her mind the pictures of 


WAR AND PEACE. — 167 


‘the recent past: the illness and the last moments of her father. 
And, with a melancholy joy, she now dwelt upon these pic- 
‘tures, repelling with horror only one: the vision of his death, 
athing which she felt wholly unable to contemplate, even in 
imagination, at that calm, mysterious hour of night. And 
these pictures came before her with such vividness, and with 
such fulness of detail, that they seemed to her now like the 
veality, and then, again, like something past, or, again, like 
something that was to come. 
_ Now she vividly recalled the moment when he received the 
stroke, and was borne in the arms of his men into the house 
at Luisiya Gorui, muttering unintelligible words with his dis- 
obedient tongue, knitting his grizzled brows, and looking anx- 
jously and timidly at her. 
__ “Even then, he wanted to tell me what he said on the very 
day of his death,” she said to herself. “What he said to me 
then was all the time in his mind.” 
And then she imagined, with all its details, that night at Luis- 
iya Gorui, on the evening before the apoplectic stroke, when, 
with a presentiment of evil, she remained with him against his 
will. She could not sleep, and she went down late at night on 
her tiptoes, and, going to the door of the greenhouse, where 
her father had tried to sleep that night, had listened to him. 
He was talking to Tikhon in a peevish, weary voice. He was 
telling him something about the Crimea, about the genial 
nights, about the empress. He was evidently in a talkative 
mood. 

“And why did he not call me? Why did he not allow me 
then to take Tikhon’s place ? ” 
_ She asked herself that question then, and again she asked 
itnow. “He was never one to confide in any one what he 
kept locked up in the chambers of his heart. And riow never 
again for him and for me will return that moment when he 
might say ‘all he wished to say, and then I, and not Tikhon, 
might have listened and understood him. Why did I not go 
‘n where he was ?” wondered the Princess Mariya. “Maybe 
3ven then he would have told me what he said on the day of 
‘his death. While he was talking with Tikhon he twice asked 
about me. He wished to see me, and there I was standing at 
the door. He found it tiresome and stupid to talk with Ti- 
Khon, for he could not understand him. JI remember how he 
spoke with him about Liza, as though she were still alive, — 
ae had forgotten that she was dead, —and Tikhon reminded 
‘im that she nad passed away, and he cried, ‘ Durak — idiot!’ 


168 - WAR AND PEACE. 























It was hard for him. As I stood outside I heard him groan 
and lie down on the bed and ery aloud, ‘My God!’ Why 
didn’t I go in then and there ? What would he have done tc 
me? What trouble might I not have made? Perhaps eve 
then he would have been comforted; perhaps he would hav« 
called ine-—— what he did.” And the princess repeated alouc 
the caressing word which he had spoken to her on the day of hi: 
death: “ Dushenka,” — Dear heart, — “ Du-shen-ka,” repeatec 
the princess, and she burst into tears that lightened the sor 
row of her soul. 

Now she saw his face plainly before her: and not that face 
which she had known ever since her earliest remembrance 
and which she’ had always seen afar off, as it were, but tha 
weak, submissive face which she, for the first time in her mem 
ory, as she bent down close to it to catch the last words tha 
fell from his mouth, saw near at hand with all its wrinkle: 
and details. 

“ Dushenka !” she repeated. 

“ What thoughts were in his mind when he said that word { 
What is he thinking now ? ” 

That question suddenly occurred to her, and for answer to it 
she seemed to see him before her with that same expressioi 
of face which he had worn in his coffin with the white hand 
kerchief binding up his face. And that horror which had 
seized her then, when she had touched him, and then felt sc 
assured that this thing not only was not he, but something 
mysterious and repulsive, came over her again. She triec 
to think of something else, she tried to pray, and she couk 
do neither. With wide, staring eyes she gazed at the moon 
hight and at the shadows, every instant expecting to see his 
dead face, and she felt that the silence that hung over th 
house and in the house was turning her to stone. 

“Dunyasha!” she whispered. “Dunyasha!” she eried, n 
a wild voice, and, tearing herself away from the silence, sh 
ran into the domestics’ room, meeting the old nyanya and thé 
women, who came to meet her at her ery. | 





CHAPTER XIII. 


On the twenty-ninth of August Rostof and Ilyin, accomp 
nied only by Lavrushka, just back from his brief captivity. 
and an orderly sergeant of hussars, set forth from their biv 
ouac at Yankovo, fifteen versts from Bogucharovo, to mak« 


"AR AND PEACE. 169 


























trial of a new horse which Ilyin had recently purchased, and 
) find whether there was any fodder in the villages round 
about. : 
 Bogucharovo, during the last three days, had been midway 
Between two hostile armies, so that it was just as likely to be 
Occupied by the Russian rearguard as by the French van- 
mard; and consequently, Rostof, like the thoughtful squadron 
ommander that he was, conceived the notion of taking pos- 
ession of the provisions at Bogucharovo in anticipation of 
me French. 
» Rostof and Ilyin were in the most jovial mood. On the way 
to Bogucharovo, to the princely estate and farm where they 
hoped to find a great throng of domestics and pretty young 
girls, they now questioned Lavrushka about Napoleon, and 
made merry over his tale, and then they ran races to test 
Tlyin’s horse. | 
Rostof had not the slightest notion that this village where 
was bound was the estate of that very same Bolkonsky who 
had been betrothed to his sister. 
|) He and Ilyin made a final spurt in trial of their horses 
lown the slope in front of Bogucharovo, and Rostof, outriding 
yin, was the first to enter the street of the village. 
>“ You got in first!” cried Ilyin, growing red in the face. 
“Yes, always ahead, not only on the level, but here also,” 
plied Rostof, smoothing the flank of his foam-flecked Donets. 
“And Ion my Franzuska, your illustriousness,” exclaimed 
avrushka, coming up behind them on his cart-jade, which he 
ed “ ranzuska,” or “ Frenchy,” in honor of his adventure. 
Vd ha’ come in first only I didn’t want to mortify you.” 
They rode at a foot-pace up to the granary, near which a 
at crowd of muzhiks were gathered. ) 
Some of them took off their caps; some, not taking off their 
ips, gazed at the new-comers. ‘Two lahk muzhiks, with 
nkled faces and thin beards, came out from the public- 
se, reeling, and trolling some incoherent snatch of a song, 
id approached the officers. 
“Say, my hearties,” sung out Rostof, with a laugh, “ have 
uany hay ?” 
)* Like as two peas,” exclaimed Ilyin. 
| * We’re jo-ol-ly g-oo-d f-fel-el-lo-ows,” sang one of the men, 
With an effusively good-natured smile. 
A muzhik came out of the throng and approached Rostof. 
“Which side are you from ?” he asked. | 
“The French,” replied Rostof, jokingly, with a smile. 


m 





170 WAR AND PEACE. 






















“And that’s Napoleon himself,” he added, pointing to La 
_ rushka. 

“ Of course, you’re Russians, ain’t you ?” asked the muzhil 

“Tg there a large party of you?” asked another, a litt 
man, who also joined them. 

“Ever so many,” replied Rostof. “And what. brings y 
all together here,” he added. “ A holiday festival ? ” 

“The elders have collected for communal business,” repli 
the muzhik who first came out. . 

At this time two women and a man in a white hat mad 
their appearance on the road from the mansion, comin 
toward the officers. “The one in pink is mine! Don’t dai 
cheat me of her!” exclaimed Ilyin, catching sight of Du 

asha coming resolutely toward him. 

“She shall be yours,” replied Lavrushka, with a wink. 

“What do you want, my beauty?” asked Ilyin, with 
smile. 

“The princess has sent to ask what is your regiment an 
your name.” | 

“T am Count Rostof, squadron commander, and I am yo 
humble servant.” 

“De-e-ev-lish jo-ol-ly g-ga-gals,” sang one of the drunke 
muzhiks, with a jovial grin, and giving Ilyin a meaning lool 
as he stood talking with the maid. Dunyasha was followe 
by Alpatuitch, who, at some distance, took off his hat i 
Rostot’s presence. 

“T make bold to trouble your nobility,” said he, politel, 
but manifesting a certain scorn of the officer’s youthful appea 
ance, and placing his hand in the breast of his coat. “M 
mistress, the daughter of Generalongshef, the late Prin: 
Nikolai Andreyevitch Bolkonsky, who died on the twenty 
seventh instant, finds herself in difficulty on account of th 
insubordination and boorishness of these individuals here” ~ 
he pointed to the muzhiks — “and she begs you to confer wit 
her —if it would not be asking too much,” said Alpatuitel 
with a timid smile, — “if you would come a few steps farth 
—and besides it is not so pleasant in presence of”’— H 
indicated the two drunken muzhiks, who were circling roun 
them and in their rear like gadflies round a horse. 

“Hey! Alpatuitch —Hey! Yakof Alpatuitch ” — “Ser’or 
shing! ’Scuse us! Ser’ous shing!” —“’Seuse us, for Christ 
sake! Hey!” said the muzhiks, leering at him. Rostc 
looked at the drunken muzhiks, and smiled. 

“Or perhaps this amuses your illustriousness?” suggest 


€ 
q WAR AND PEACE. 171 
Alpatuitch, with a sedate look, and indicating the old men 
with his other hand —the one not in the breast of his coat. 
| “No, there’s no amusement in that,” said Rostof, and started 
mt. ‘ What is the trouble?” he asked. 
~“T make bold to explain to your illustriousness, that these 
Bese peasants here are not willing that their mistress should 
eave her estate, and they threaten to take her horses out ; 
md though everything has been packed up since morning, her 
Iustriousness can’t get away.” 
- “Incredible !” ied Rostof. 
“JI have the honor of reporting to you the essential truth,” 
maintained Alpatuitch. 
' Rostof dismounted, and, throwing the reins to his orderly, 
went with Alpatuitch to the house, questioning him on the 
state of affairs. In point of fact, the offer of corn which the 
princess had made to the muzhiks the evening before, her 
xxplanations to Dron and to the meeting, had made affairs so 
much worse that Dron had definitively laid down his keys, and 
laken sides with the peasantry, and had refused to obey Alpa- 
imitch’s summons ; and that morning, when the princess had 
wrdered to have the horses put in so as to take her departure, 
she muzhiks had gone in a regular mob to the granary, and 
sent a messenger declaring that they would not allow the prin- 
sess to leave the village, that orders had come not to leave and 
shey should unharness the horses. Alpatuitch had gone to 
them, and reasoned with them, but they had replied — Karp 
deing their spokesman for the most part — Dron did not show 
himself at all —that it was impossible to let the princess take 
ner departure, that there was a law against it: “only let her 
stay at home, and they would serve her as they always had 
lone, and obey her in everything.” 

At the moment that Rostof and [lyin had come spurring up 
she avenue, the Princess Mariya, in spite of the dissuasion of 
Alpatuitch, the old nyanya, and her women, had given orders 
30 have the horses put in, and had made up her mind to start ; 
out when the coachmen saw the cavalrymen galloping up, 
they took them for the French, and ran away; and wailing 
and lamentations of women were heard in the house. 

“Batyushka !” —“ Blessed father !”” — “God has sent you,” 
were the words of welcome that met him, as Rostof passed 
eosh the anteroom. 

The Princess Mariya, entirely bewildered and weak with 
fright, was sitting in the drawing-room when Rostof was 
| ie in to her. She had no idea who he was and why he 







Tie WAR AND PEACE. 



















was there and what was going to become of her. When sh: 
saw his Russian face, and recognized by his manner and th: 
first words he spoke that he was a man of her own walk in life 
she looked at him with her deep, radiant eyes, and began t: 
speak in broken tones, her voice trembling with emotion. 

Rostof immediately found something very romantic in thi 
adventure. “An unprotected maiden, overwhelmed with grie: 
left alone to the mercy of rough, insurgent muzhiks! An 
what a strange fate has brought me here!” thought Rostoi 
as he listened to her and looked at her. ‘And what sweetnes 
and gratitude in her features and her words!” he said to hi 
‘self, as he listened to her faltering tale. ; 

When she related all that had taken place on the day afte 
her father’s obsequies, her voice trembled. She turned aside 
and then, as though she were afraid Rostof would take he 
words to be an excuse for rousing his pity, she glanced at hin 
with a timidly questioning look. | 

The tears stood in Rostof’s eyes. The Princess Mariy 
observed it, and she looked gratefully at him with those bri 
liant eyes of hers, which made one forget the plainness of he 
face. | 

“T cannot tell you, princess, how happy I am at the chane 
that brought me here, and puts me in position to show yor 
how ready I am to serve you,” said Rostof, rising. ‘ You ca 
start immediately, and I pledge you my word of honor that n 
one shall dare to cause you the slightest unpleasantness, if yo 
will only permit me to serve as your escort,” and, making he 
a courtly bow such as are made to ladies of the imperial blooc 
he went to the door. By the courtlness of his tone, Rosto 
seemed to show that, in spite of the fact that he should coi 
sider it an honor to be acquainted with her, he would no 
think of taking advantage of her hour of misfortune to inflic 
his acquaintance upon her. | 

The Princess Mariya understood and appreciated this deli 
cacy. 

“T am very, very grateful to you,’ said she, in Frenel 
“But I hope that this was merely a misunderstanding, am 
that no one is to blame for it””— She suddenly broke dowi 
“Forgive me,” said she. | 

Rostof once more made a low obeisance, and left the roon 
with an angry scowl. 





WAR AND PEACE. 173 


CHAPTER XIV. 


“WELL, now, pretty ? ah, brother, my pink one’s a beauty 
md her name is Dunyasha ”’ — 
_ But as he glanced into Rostof’s face Lyin held his tongue. 
He saw that his hero and commander had come back in an 
antirely different frame of mind. 
*Rostof gave Ilyin a wrathful glance, and, without deigning 
to give him any answer, he strode swiftly down to the village. 
~“Twill teach them! I'll give it to those cut-throats,” he 
muttered to himself. | 
_Alpatuitch, with a sort of swimming gait that was just 
short of running, found it hard to overtake him. 
~*What decision have you been pleased to come to?” he 
isked, at last catching up with him. Rostof halted and, doub- 
ing his fists, made a threatening movement toward Alpatuitch 
suddenly. 
~* Decision? What decision? You old dotard!” cried he. 
‘What are you staring at? Ha?-—~The muzhiks are in 
volt and you can’t bring them to terms? You yourself are 
btraitor! I know you. I’ll take the hide off you, the whole of 
rou”— And, as though afraid of wasting the reserve fund of 
us righteous wrath, he left Alpatuitch and hastened forward. 
“Alpatuitch, evidently crushing down his sense of injured 
nnocence, hastened after Rostof with that swimming gait of 
us, and continued to give him his opinions in regard to the 
hatter. He declared that the muzhiks had got themselves 
nto such a state of recalcitrancy, that at the present moment 
t would be imprudent to contrarize them, unless one had a 
quad of soldiers, so that it would be better to send after the 
oldiers first. | 
Pll give them a squad of soldiers —I’ll show how to con- 
tarize them,” replied Rostof, not knowing what he was say- 
ag, and breathing hard from his unreasoning, keen indignation 
nd the necessity which he felt of expressing this indignation. 
Vith no definite plan of action he rushed with strong, reso- 
ute steps straight at the mob. 
_ And the nearer he approached it, the more firmly. convinced 
tew Alpatuitch that this imprudent action of his might lead 
J excellent results. The muzhiks in the throng felt the same 
hing as they saw his swift, unswerving movements and his 
2solute, scowling face. 


174 WAR AND PEACE. 


After the hussars had entered the village and Rostof hai 
gone to see the princess, a certain perplexity and division O 
counsels had prevailed among the peasantry. It began to b 
bruited among them that these visitors were Russians, 7 
some of the muzhiks declared that they would be angr 
because their baruishnya was detained. Dron was of thi 
opinion, but as soon as he had so expressed himself, Karp : 
the other muzhiks attacked their former starosta. 

“ How many years have you been getting your belly full ou 
of this commune?” cried Karp. “It’s all the same to you 
You'll dig up your pot of money and be off! What do yo 
care whether they burn up our houses or not ?” | 

“The order was to keep good order: no one to go from thei 
homes and not carry off the value of a speck o’ dust —an 
there she goes with all she’s got,” cried another. : 

“Twas your son’s turn, but you were too soft on your youn 
noodle,” suddenly exclaimed a little old man, pitching int 
Dron. “But they shaved my Vanka. Ekh! we shall die!” 

“Certainly we shall die!” 

“T’m not quit of the commune yet,” said Dron. 

“Of course you're not. You've filled your belly, though!” 

Then two long, lank muzhiks said their say. As soon 4 
Rostof, accompanied by Ilyin, Lavrushka, and Alpatuitch, dre‘ 
near the mob, Karp, thrusting his fingers in his belt, an 
slightly smiling, came forward. Dron, on the contrary, gc 
into the rear ranks, and the throng crowded closer together. - 

“Hey! Which of you is the starosta here?” cried Rosto 
coming up to the mob with swift strides. 

“The starosta? What do you want of him?” asked Kary 

But before he had a chance to utter another word his ca 
flew off, and he was sent reeling with a powerful blow. : 

“ Hats off, you traitors!” cried Rostof in a stentorian voice: 
“ Where is the stdrosta ? ” he thundered in a frenzied voice. 

“The stdrosta, he wants the stérosta. — Dron Zakaruitch - 
you!” was spoken by various officiously submissive voice 
and every hat was doffed. 

“We should never think of rebelling; we preserve order, 
insisted Karp, and several voices in the rear ranks at the sam 
instant suddenly shouted : — 

“Tt was what the council of elders decided; we have t 
obey ” — | 

“Do you dare answer back ? — Mob!—cut-throats ! — tra 
tors!” sung out Rostof, beside himself with rage and in 
unnatural voice, while he seized Karp by the collar. “ Bin 





WAR AND PEACE. 175 


him! Bind him!” he cried, though there was no one to 
»xecute his orders except Lavrushka and Alpatuitch. 

Lavrushka, however, sprang forward and seized Karp by 
ihe arms from behind. “Do you wish us to summon ours 
from below ? ” he cried. 

Alpatuitch turned ‘to the muzhiks, calling two by name, to 
bind Karp’s arms. These muzhiks submissively stepped forth 
from the throng and began to unfasten their belts. 

' “Where is the starosta ?” cried Rostof. 

_ Dron, with a pale and frowning face, stood out. | 
“You the starosta ? — Bind him, Lavrushka,” cried Rostof, 
as though it were impossible for this command to meet with 
resistance. And, in point of fact, two other muzhiks began 
30 bind Dron, who, in order to facilitate the operation, took off 
ils girdle and handed it to them. 

_“And see here —do you all obey me! ” — Rostof had turned 
0 the muzhiks. —“Disperse to your homes instantly, and 
lon’t let me hear a word from one of you!” 

_ “Come, now ! we hain’t done no harm !”” — “ We’ve only been 
ieting silly.” — “Made fools of ourselves, that’s all.?? — “I 
laid there wasn’t no such orders,” said various voices, re- 
moaching each other. 

*That’s what I told you,” said Alpatuitch, re-assuming his 
ights. “’Twasn’t right of you, boys.” 

“Our foolishness, Yakof Alpatuitch,” replied the voices, 
md the crowd immediately began to break up and scatter to 
heir homes. 

The two muzhiks, with their arms bound, were taken to the 
aaster’s house.* The two drunken men followed. 

“Ekh ! now I get a good look at you!” said one of them, 
ddressing Karp. 

“How could you, with your bétters in that way ? What 
rere you thinking of ? Durak! idiot!” exclaimed the other. 
‘Truly you were an idiot!” 

Inside of two hours the teams were ready in the dvor of 
he Bogucharovo mansion. ‘The men were zealously lugging 
ut and packing up the master’s belongings, and Dron, at the 
Mincess’s intercession let out of the shed where he had been 
eked up, directed the muzhiks at their work. 

“Don’t pack that away so clumsily,” said one of the mu- 
hiks, a tall man, with a round, smiling face, taking a casket 
‘om the hands of a chambermaid. “You see, that must ’a’ 
st summat! Don’t sling it in that way, or poke it under a 
* Barsky dvor, 


176 WAR AND PEACE. 


















pile of rope —why, it’ll get spoiled! I don’t like it tha 

way. Let everything be done neat, according to law! Ther 
that’s the way —under this mat, and tuck hay round 1 
That’s the way to do it!” 

“Oh, these books! these books!” exclaimed another mi 
zhik, bending under the weight of the bookeases from Prine 
Andrei’s librar ve ithDon't you touch them! Heavy, I tell yo 
boys! healthy lot of books !’ 

“Yes, that man kept nis pen busy, and didn’t gad much, 
said the tall, moon-faced muzhik, winking significantly, an 
pointing to some lexicons lying on top. 


Rostof, not wishing to impose his acquaintance upon th 
princess, did not return to her, but remained in the village 
waiting for her to pass on her way. Having waited until th 
Princess Mariya’s carriages had left the house, Rostof mounte: 
and accompanied her on horseback along the highway ocev 
pied by our troops for a dozen versts. 
_ At Yankovo, where his bivouac was, he politely took leav’ 
of her, and for the first time pe ermitted himself the liberty o 
kissing her hand. 

“ Ought you not to be ashamed of yourself!” replied Ros 
tof, reddening, as the Princess Mariya expressed her gratitud 
for his having saved her — for so she spoke of what he has 
done. “Any policeman * would have done as much. If w 
had only peasants to fight with, we should not have let th 
enemy advance so far,” said he, feeling a twinge of shame, an¢ 
anxious to change the topic. “Iam only delighted that thi 
has given me a chance of making your acquaintance. Farewell] 
—prashchaite, princess. I wish you all happiness and conse 
lation, and I hope that we shall meet under more favorable eit 
cumstances. If you wish to spare my blushes, please do no 
thank me.” 

But the princess, if she did not thank him further in word 
could not help expressing her gratitude in every feature © 
her face, which fairly beamed with recognizance and gentle 
ness. She could not believe him when he said that she hac 
nothing for which to thank him. Qn the contrary, it was be 
yond question that if it had not been for him, she would hav: 
been utterly lost either at the hands of the insurgent peas 
ants, or the French; that he, in order to rescue her, har 
exposed himself to the most palpable and terrible peril; an 
still less was it a matter of doubt that he was a man of high 


* Stanovoi. 


WAR AND PEACE. 177 


‘noble spirit, capable of realizing her position and misfortune. 
‘His kindly, honest eyes, which had filled with sympathetic 
tears when she herself was weeping, and seemed to speak with 
her about her loss, she could not keep out of her thoughts. 

When she bade him farewell, and was left alone, the Prin- 
‘ess Mariya suddenly felt her eyes fill with tears, and then, it 
Seemed not for the first time, the strange question came into 
‘her mind, “ Did she love him ?” 

During the rest of the journey to Moscow, though her posi- 
‘tion was far from agreeable, the princess, as Duny asha, who 
‘ode with her in the carriage, more than once observed, looked 
out of the window and smiled, as though at pleasant- melan- 
poly thoughts. 

“Well, supposing I did fall in love with him,” mused the 
Princess Mariya. 

~ Shameful as it was for ne to acknowledge to herself that 
she fell in love at first sight with a man who, perhaps, might 
never reciprocate her love, still she comforted herself with 
the thought that no one would ever know it, and that she 
would not be to blame if, even to the end of her life, she, 
without ever telling any one, loved this man whom she loved 
for the first time and the last. 

“sometimes she recalled his looks, his sympathetic interest, 
his words, and happiness seemed to her not out of the bounds 
of the possible. And it was at such times-that Dunyasha 
observed that she smiled as she gazed out of the carriage win- 
dow. 

“ And it was fate that he should come to Bogucharovo, and 
at such a time!” said the Princess Mariya. “ And it was fate 
that his sister should jilt Prince Andrei!” And in all this 
the Princess Mariya saw the workings of Providence. 

The impression made upon Rostof by the Princess Mariya 
Was very agreeable. When his thoughts recurred to her, hap- 
piness filled his heart, and when his comrades, learning of his 
adventure at Bogucharovo, joked him because, in going after 
hay, he had fallen in with one of the richest heiresses of 
Russia, Rostof lost his temper. He lost his temper for the 
very reason that the idea of marrying the princess, who had 
impressed him so pleasantly, and who had such an enormous, 
property, had more than once, against his will, occurred to 
him. As far as he personally was concerned, he could not 
‘Wish a better wife than the Princess Mariya. To marry her 
would vive great delight to the countess, his mother, and would 
help him to extricate his father’s affairs from their wreck, ~ 


VOL. 3. —12, 


178 WAR AND PEACE. 





















and then, again, — Nikolai felt this, — it would be for the Pri 
cess Mariya’s happiness. 

But Sonya? And his plighted troth? And that was th 
reason Rostof grew angry when they joked him about th 
Princess Bolkonskaya. 


CHAPTER XV. 


Havine accepted the command of the armies, Kutuzo 
remembered Prince Andrei, and sent word to him to join hin 
at headquarters. Prince Andrei reached Tsarevo-Zai-mishch 
on the very day and at the very time when Kutuzof was ma 
ing his first review of the troops. : 

He stopped in the village, at the house of a priest, in fron’ 
of which the chief commander’s carriage was standing, an 
took his seat on the bench in front of the door, waiting fo 
his “serene highness,’ * as every one now called Kutuzof 
From the field back of the village came the sound of martia 
music, then the roar of a tremendous throng of men shouting 
“Hurrah! Hurrah!” in honor of the commander-in-chief. 

A dozen steps orso from Prince Andrei stood a couple o: 
Kutuzof’s servants —the courier and his house-steward, — 
profiting by the prince’s absence and the beautiful weather t 
come out to the-gates. 

A dark-complexioned little lieutenant-colonel of hussars 
with a portentous growth of mustache and side-whiskers, cam 
riding up to the gates, and, seeing Prince Andrei, asked if Ii 
serene highness lodged there, and if he would soon return. 

Prince Andrei replied that he was not a member of his 
serene highness’s staff, and had, likewise, only just arrived 

The lieutenant-colonel turned to the spruce-looking denshchi} 
with the same question; and the chief commander’s denshehil 
answered him with that contemptuous indifference with whicl 
the servants of commanders-in-chief are apt to treat under 
officers. 

“ What ? His serene highness? Likely to be here before 
long. What do you want ?”’ 

The lieutenant laughed in his mustaches at the denshchik’s 
tone, dismounted from his horse, gave the bridle to his orderly 
and joined Bolkonsky, making him a stiff little bow. Bolkon 
sky made room for him on the bench. ‘The officer of hussars 
sat down next him. 


g 


Svietléishia 


WAR AND PEACE. 179 


1 “So you're waiting for the commander-in-chief too, are 
rou?” asked the lieutenant-colonel. ‘ He’s weported to be 
tewy accessible! Thank God forthat! That was the twouble 
‘with those sausage-stuffers. There was some weason in Yer- 
nolof asking to be weckoned as a German. Now pe’w’aps we 
Ussians may have something to say about things now. The 
levil knows what they’ve been doing! Always wetweating — 
ilways wetweating! Have you been making the campaign ? ” 
1e asked. | 
“JT have had that pleasure,” replied Prince Andrei. “Not 
ly have I taken part in the retreat, but I have lost thereby 
ul that I hold dear, to say nothing of my property and the 
tome of my ancestors, — my father, who died of grief. I am 
Smolensk.” 

“Ah? Are you Pwince Bolkonsky ? Wight glad to make 
your acquaintance: — Lieutenant-Colonel Denisof, better 
mown as Vaska,” said Denisof, shaking hands with Prince 
Andrei, and looking with a peculiarly gentle expression into 
tis face. “Yes, I heard about it,” said he sympathetically ; 
id, after a short pause, he continued, “ And so this is Scy- 
jhian warfare. It’s all vewy good except for those whose 
wibs are bwoken. And you are Pwince Andrei Bolkonsky ? ” 
He shook his head. “Vewy, vewy glad, pwince, vewy glad to 
make your acquaintance,” he repeated for the second time, 
squeezing his hand. 

Prince Andrei had known from Natasha that Denisof was her 
irst suitor. This recollection, at once sweet and bitter, brought 
yack to him those painful sensations which of late he had not 
ulowed himself to harbor, but which were always in his heart. 
Recently so many other and more serious impressions — like 
jhe evacuation of Smolensk, his visit to Luisiya Gorui, the 
1ews of his father’s death — and so many new sensations had 
geen experienced by him that it was some time since he had 
3ven thought of his disappointment, and now, when he was 
eminded of it, it seemed so long ago that it did not affect him 
with its former force. 

For Denisof, also, the series of recollections conjured up in 
tis mind by Bolkonsky’s name belonged to a distant, poetic 
ast, to that time when he, after thesupper, and after Natasha 
fad sung for him, himself not realizing what he was doing, 
fered himself toa maiden of fifteen! He smiled from his 
‘recollection of that time, and of his love for Natasha, and im- 
mediately proceeded to the topic which at the present pas- 
slonately occupied him to the exclusion of everything eise, 


180 WAR AND PEACE. 
























This was a plan of campaign which he had developed durin 
the retreat, while on duty at the outposts. He had propose. 
this plan to Barclay de Tolly, and was now bent on proposin 
it to Kutuzof. The plan was based on the fact that th 
French hne of operations was too widely spread out, and hi 
idea was that, instead of attacking them in front, or, possibly 
in connection with offensive attacks at the front, so as to bloe 
their road, it was necessary to act against their communic 
tions. 

“They can’t sustain such a long line. It is impossible 
I’ll pwomise to bweak thwough them; give me five hundwe 
men and Ill cut my way thwough, twuly. <A sort of systen 
of guwillas.” 

Denisof had got up in his excitement, and as he laid hi 
plan before Bolkonsky he gesticulated eagerly. In the mids 
of his exposition, the acclamations of the military, more that 
ever incoherent, more than ever diffused and mingled witl 
music and songs, were heard in the direction of the review 
grounds, The trampling of horses and shouts were heard ix 
the village. 

“Here he comes,” shouted the Cossack guard. Bolkonsky 
and Denisof went down to the gates, where were gathered ¢ 
httle knot of soldiers, composing the guard of honor, ané 
saw Kutuzof coming down the street, mounted on his littlé 
bay cob. A tremendous suite of generals accompanied him 
Barclay de Tolly was riding almost abreast of him. A thron¢ 
of officers followed them and closed in around them on al. 
sides, shouting “ Hurrah !” 

His adjutants galloped on ahead of him into the yard 
Kutuzof impatiently spurring his steed, which cantered along 
heavily under his weight, and constantly nodding his head 
and raising his hand to his white cavalier-guard cap, whick 
was decorated with a red band and without a visor. As he 
came up to his guard of honor composed of gallant grenadiers. 
—for the most part cavalrymen,—who presented arms, he 
for an instant gazed silently and shrewdly at them with the 
stubborn look of one used to command, and turned back te 
the throng of generals and other officers standing around 
him. Over his face suddenly passed an artful expression; he 
shrugged his shoulders with a gesture of perplexity. 

“The idea of retreating, and retreating with such gallant 
fellows!” said he. “ Well, good-by,* general,” he added, an 
turned his horse into the gates, past Prince Andrei and Denisof 


* Do svidanya, 


WAR AND PEACE. 181 


. “Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!” The acclamations rent 
the air behind him. 

Kutuzof, since Prince Andrei had last seen him, had grown 

|stouter than ever; he fairly weltered in fat. But the 
whitened eye, and the wound, and that expression of lassitude 
‘im face and figure, which he knew so well, were the same. He 
was dressed in a military long coat—a whip hung by a slen- 
der ribbon over his shoulder—and he wore his white cava- 
Tier-guard shako. Heavily sprawled out and swaying, he sat 
‘Ris little horse. His jiu — fiu —fiu could be heard almost 
‘distinctly as he rode, breathing sharply, into the courtyard. 
_ His face had that expression of relief which a man shows 
when he makes up his mind to have a rest after a public 
‘exhibition. He extricated his left leg from the stirrup, leaned 
back with his whole body, and, scowling with the exertion of 
getting his leg up over the saddle, rested with his knee a 
Moment, and then with a quack like a duck he let himself 
down into the arms of the Cossacks and adjutants, who were 
waiting to assist him. 

He straightened himself up, glanced around with blinking 
eyes, and, catching sight of Prince Andrei, he evidently failed 
to recognize him, and set out with his clumsy, plunging gait 
forthe steps. fiw — fiu —fiu he puffed, and again he glanced 
at Prince Andrei. The impression made by Prince Andrei’s 
face, though it was reached only after several seconds, —as is 
often the case with old men, —at last connected itself with 
the recollection of who he was. 

“Ah! good-day, prince, good-day. How are you, my good 
Tellow ?* come with me,” he said wearily, glancing round, and 
beginning heavily to mount the steps, which groaned under 
his weight. Then he unbuttoned his uniform and sat down 
on the bench at the top of the steps. 

“Well, how is your father ? ” 

“Yesterday I received news of his death,” said Prince 
Andrei abruptly. 

Kutuzof looked at Prince Andrei with startled, wide-opened 
eyes ; then he took off his cap and crossed himself. 
| “The kingdom of heaven be his. God’s will be done to us 
all.” | 
_ He drew a deep, heavy sigh and was long silent. “I loved 
him dearly and I realized his worth, and I sympathize with 
you with all my heart.” 

_ He embraced Prince Andrei, pressed him to his fat chest 
* Golubchik. 


182 _ WAR AND PEACE. 

























and held him there long. When at last he released him 
Prince Andrei saw that his blubbery lps trembled, and tha 
his eyes were full of tears. He sighed and took hold of th 
bench with both hands so as to rise. 

“Come, come to my room and let us talk!” said he, bu 
just at that instant Denisof, who was as little apt to quai 
before his superiors as before his enemies, strode with jinglin; 
spurs to the steps, in spite of the adjutants, who with indig 
nant whispers tried to stop him. Kutuzof, still clinging tq 
the bench, gave him a displeased look. 

Denisof, introducing himself, explained that he had some 
thing of the greatest importance for the good of the country 
to communicate to his serene highness. Kutuzof, with hi 
weary look, continued to stare at Denisof, and, with a gestur: 
of annoyance, released his hands and folded them on his belly 
repeating: “For the good of the country ? — Well, what is it’ 
Speak !” 

Denisof reddened like a girl— how strange it was to se! 
the blush on the mustachioed, bibulous facé of the veteran, — 
and he began boldly to evolve his plan for breaking throug! 
the enemy’s effective line between Smolensk and Viazma 
Denisof’s home was in this region, and he was well acquainte: 
with every locality. His plan seemed unquestionably excel 
lent, especially owing to the force of conviction which he pu 
into his words. Kutuzof regarded his own legs, and occa 
sionally looked over into the dvor or yard of the adjoinin; 
cottage, as though he were expecting something unpleasant t 
appear from there. And in reality from the cottage at whic 
he was looking, during Denisof’s speech, emerged a generai 
with a portfolo under his arm. 

“What ?” exclaimed Kutuzof, interrupting Denisof in th 
midst of his exposition. “ Ready so soon ?” 

“Yes, your serene highness,” replied the general. Kutuzo 
shook his head as much as to say, ‘How can one man hay: 
time for all this ?” and went on listening to Denisof. 

“T give my twuest word of honor as a ’Ussian officer,’ 
insisted Denisof, “that I will cut off Napoleon’s communica 
tions.” 

“ What! is Kirill Andreyevitch Denisof, Ober-intendant, an} 
relation of yours ?” asked Kutuzof, interrupting him. 

“My own uncle, your serene highness.” 

“Oh, we were good friends,” exclaimed Kutuzof, joviall 
“Very good, very good, my dear.* Stay here at headqua 
ters ; we uh talk it over to-morrow.” ) 


* Golubchik. 


WAR AND PEACE 183 


1 Nodding to Denisof, he turned away, and stretched out his 
‘hand for the papers. which Konovnitsuin had brought him. 
( “Would not your serene highness find it more comfortable 
to come into the house?” suggested the officer of the day, in-a 
idissatished tone. “It’s absolutely essential to look over some 
‘plans, and to sign a number of documents.” 
| An adjutant, appearing at the door, announced that his 
/rooms were all ready. But Kutuzof evidently wanted not to 
‘go indoors until he was free. He scowled. 
'_ “No, have a table brought out, my dear; ’ll look at them 
here,” said he. — “ Don’t you go,” he added, addressing Prince 
Andrei. Prince Andrei remained on the steps, and listened to 
‘the officer of the day. 
| During the rendering of the report, Prince Andrei heard in 
\the passageway the whispering of a woman’s voice and the rus- 
thng of a woman’s silken gown. Several times, as he glanced 
im that direction, he caught sight of a round, ruddy-faced, 
‘pretty woman, in a pink dress, and with a lilac silk handker- 
‘chief over her head, holding a dish in her hands, and evi- 
dently waiting for the return of the commander-in-chief. One 
‘of Kutuzof’s adjutants explained to Prince Andrei in a whis- 
‘per that this was the mistress of the house, the pope’s wife, 
‘who was all ready to offer his serene highness the khleb-sol.* 
Her husband had already met his highness with the cross at 
‘the church, and here she was at home with the bread and salt. 
( “Very pretty!” added the adjutant, with a smile. Kutu- 
/zof looked up on hearing that. He had been listening to the 
‘general’s report,—the principal feature of which was a 
‘eritique on the position at Tsarevo-ZAimishche, — just exactly 
as he had listened to Denisof, just exactly as he had listened 
\to the discussions at the council on the night before the battle 
of Austerlitz, seven years previously. It was evident that 
he listened merely because he had ears, which could not help 
‘hearing, although one of them was stuffed full of tarred hemp ; 
but it was plain that nothing that the general on duty could 
‘Say could either arouse him or interest him, and that he knew 
‘madvance what would be said, and listened only because he 
had to listen, as he might have to listen to the singing of a 
Te Deum. 
_ All that Denisof said was practical and sensible. What the 
general on duty said was still more practical and sensible, 
{out it was evident that Kutuzof scorned both knowledge and 
sense, and took for granted that something else was needed to 
: 





| * Bread and salt, typical of Russian hospitality. 


184 WAR AND PEACE. 


decide the matter ; something else, and quite independent o 
sense and knowledge. 

Prince Andrei attontie ely watched the expression of th 
chief commander’s face, and the only expression which hi 
could distinguish in it was one of tedium, or of curiosity as t« 
the meaning of a woman’s whispering inside the door, and th 
desire to save appearances, 

It was evident that Kutuzof scorned sense and knowledge 
and even the patriotic feeling shown by Denisof, but that h: 
did not scorn them by his own superior sense and knowledg: 
and feeling — for he did not try to manifest these qualities 
but he scorned them from some other reason. He scornec 
them because of his advanced age, because of his experienc: 
of life. 

The one single disposition which Kutuzof felt called upon t 
make in connection with this report related to the maraudin; 
of the Russian soldiers. The general on duty, on finishin: 
his report, presented to his serene highness, to sign, a pape: 
granting a favorable answer to a proprietor who had peti 
tioned for the military authorities to reimburse him for th 
loss of, his standing oats, which had been taken on requisition. 

Kutuzof smacked his lips and shook his head when he hearc 
about this. 

“Into the stove with it—burn it! I tell you, once anc 
for all, my dear,” said he, “throw all such things into thx 
fire. Let em reap the grain and burn the wood as they need 
I don’t order it, and I don’t allow it, but, if it is done, I can’ 
pay for it.. It can’t be helped. ‘If wood is cut, the chip: 
fly.” * He glanced once more at the paper. “ Oh, Germal 
punctilio!” he exclaimed, shaking his head. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


“ Werut, that is all, is it?” asked Kutuzof, affixing his namé 
to the last of the documents; and, rising laboriously, anc 
settling the folds of his white, puffy neck, he went to the doo: 
with a cheerful face. 

The pope’s wife, with flushed face, grasped for the plate 
which, though she had prepared it so long in advance, she 
nevertheless failed to present in time. And, with a low obei 
sance, she offered the bread and salt to Kutuzof. Kutuzot’s 
eyes twinkled ; he smiled, chucked her under the chin, anc 


said : — 
* Russian proverb. 


WAR AND PEACE. 185 


_ “What a pretty woman you are! Thanks, sweetheart!” * 
_ He drew out of his trousers pocket a few gold pieces, and 
Jaid them in the plate. ‘“ Well, then, how are we situated ? ” 
“said he, going toward the room reserved for his private use. 

‘The pope’s wife, with every dimple in her rosy face smil- 
ing, followed him into the chamber. 

_ An adjutant came to Prince Andrei, as he stood on the 
‘steps, and invited him to breakfast. In half an hour he was 
again summoned to Kutuzof. Kutuzof was sprawled out in an 

easy-chair, with his uniform coat unbuttoned.. He held a 
French book in his hand, and, when Prince Andrei came in, 
he laid it down, marking the place with a knife. This book, 
‘as Prince Andrei could see by the cover, was Les Chevaliers 
du Cygne, a work by Madame de Genlis. 

'“ Well, now, sit down, sit down here,” said Kutuzof. “It’s 
‘sad, very sad. But remember, my boy, that I am a father to 
you — a second father.” 

'Prince Andrei told Kutuzuf all that he knew about his 
father’s death, and what he had seen at Luisiya Gorui as he 
passed through. 

) “To what—to what have they brought us!” suddenly 
exclaimed Kutuzof, in an agitated voice, evidently getting 
from Prince Andrei’s story a clear notion of the state in which 

Russia found herself. 

“Wait a bit! wait a bit!” he added, with a wrathful ex- 
pression, and then, evidently not wishing to dwell on this 
agitating topic, he went on to say : — 

“T have summoned you to keep you with me.” 

“J thank your serene highness,” rephed Prince Andrei, 
“put I fear that I am not good for staff service,” he explained 
with a smile which Kutuzof remarked. ‘ And chiefly,” added 
Prince Andrei, “I am used to my regiment. I have grown 
very fond of the officers, and the men, so far as I can judge, 
are fond of me. I should be sorry to leave my regiment. If 
I decline the honor of being on your staff, believe me, it is” 

A keen, good-natured, and at the same time shrewdly sar- 
castic expression flashed over Kutuzof’s puffy face. He inter- 
rupted Bolkonsky. 

“Yam sorry. You might have been useful to me; but you 
are right, you are right. We don’t need men here! There 
are everywhere plenty of advisers, but not of men. Our regi- 
‘ments would be very different if all the advice-givers would 
serve in them as you do. I remember you at Austerlitz— 


* Golubushka. 


186 WAR AND PEACE. 











I remember you; I remember you with the standard,” sai: 
Kutuzof, and a flush of pleasure spread over Prince Andrei’ 

face at this recollection. Kutuzof drew him close, and stroke: 
his cheek, and again Prince Andrei observed tears in his eyes 
Though Prince Andrei knew that tears were Kutuzof’s weal 
point, and that he was especially flattering to him, and wa 
anxious to express his sympathy for his loss, still Prince Andre 
felt particularly happy and gratified at this allusion to Aus 
terlitz. 

“Go, and God bless you! I know, your road —is the roac 
of honor.” 

He paused. 

“TI missed you sadly at Bukarest. I had to send a mes 
senger.” 

And, changing the conversation, Kutuzof began to talk 
about the Turkish war and the peace which had been con. 
cluded. 

“Yes, they abused me not a little,” said he, “both for the 
war and for the peace; but all came about in time. Tout vieni 
a point a celui qui sait attendre. There I had just as many 
advisers as I have here,” he went on to say, turning to the 
counsellors who were evidently his pre-occupation. “Okh! 
these counsellors, these counsellors!” he exclaimed. “Tf 
their advice had been taken, we should be still in Turkey, and 
peace would not have been signed, and the war would not be 
over yet. Everything in haste, but ‘fast never gets far. If 
Kamiensky had not died, he would have been ruined. He 
stormed a fortress with thirty thousand men. ‘There’s noth- 
ing hard in taking a fortress; it’s hard to gain a campaign. 
And to do that, not to storm and attack, but patience and time 
are what is required. Kamiensky sent his soldiers against 
Rushehuk ; and while I employed nothing but time and 
patience, I took more fortresses than Kamiensky ever did, anc 
I made the Turks feed on horse-flesh.” He shook his head. 
“And the French will do the same. Take my word for Tuy! 
he exclaimed, growing more animated, and pounding his chest, 
“if I have anything to do with it, they will be eating horse- 
flesh too!” And again his eyes overflowed with tears. : 

“Still, you’ll have to accept a battle, won’t you?” asked 
Prince Andrei. 

“Certainly, if every one demands it, there’s no help for 
it. But trust me, my boy.* There are no more powerful 
fighters than these two, — Time and Patience; they do every 


* Golubchik, : 





WAR AND PEACE. 187 


‘thing. But our advisers n’entendent pas de cette oreille, voila 
te mal; that’s the trouble. They won’t see it in that hght. 
Some are in favor, and some are opposed. What’s to be done?” 
he asked, and waited for an answer. “Yes, what is it you 
advise doing?” he repeated, and his eyes gleamed with an 
expression of deep cunning. “I will tell you what is to be 
done,” he went on to say, when Prince Andrei still refrained 
from expressing any opinion. “I will tell you what is to be 
done, and I shall doit. Duns le doute, mon cher,” — he hesi- 
tated, — “abstiens-tot. When in doubt, don’t,” he repeated, 
after an interval. “Well, good-by, prashchai, my dear boy. 
Remember that I sympathize with all my heart in your loss, 
and that to you I am not His Serene Highness nor prince nor 
‘commander-in-chief, but a father to you. If you want any- 
‘thing, apply directly to me. Good-by, my dear.” * 

' He again embraced and kissed him. And before Prince 
Andrei had actually reached the door, Kutuzof drew a long 
‘sigh of relief, and had resumed his unfinished novel by 
‘Madame de Genlis, Les Chevaliers du Cygne. 

Prince Andrei could not account to himself for the why or 
wherefore of it, but it was a fact that after this interview with 
Kutuzof, he returned to his regiment much relieved as to the 

general course of affairs, and as to the wisdom of intrusting 
them to this man whom he had just seen. The more he real- 
‘ized the utter absence of all self-seeking in this old man, who 
seemed to have outlived ordinary passions, and whose intel- — 
‘lect —that is, the power of co-ordinating events and drawing 
‘conclusions —had resolved itself into the one faculty of 
calmly holding in check the course of events, the more 
assured Prince Andrei felt that everything would turn out as 
it should. - | 
'“There is nothing petty and personal about him. He 
-won’t give way to his imaginations; he won’t do anything 
rash,” said Prince Andrei to himself, “but he will lhsten to 
all suggestions ; he will remember everything; he will have 
everything in its place; he will hinder nothing that is useful, 
and permit nothing that is harmful; he will remember that 
there is something more powerful and more tremendous than 
_his will, —the inevitable course of events, —and he will have 
‘the brains to see them; he will have the ability to realize 
_their significance, and, in view of this significance, he will be 
sensible enough to see what a small part he himself and his 
-own will have to play in them. But chief of all,” thought 
. * Prashchdi, golubchik. 


188 WAR AND PEACE. 


Prince Andrei, “what makes me have confidence in him is 
that he is Russian, in spite of his French romance of Madame 
de Genlhis and his French phrases; beeause his voice trembled 
when he exclaimed, ‘What have they brought us to?’ and 
because he sobbed when he declared that he would make them 
eat horse-flesh.” 

It was due to this feeling, which all felt more or less vaguely, 
that Kutuzof’s selection as commander-in-chief, in spite of 
court cabals, met with such unanimous and general recognition 
among the people. 


CHAPTER XVIL. 


AFTER the sovereign’s departure from Moscow, the life in 
the capital flowed on in its ordinary channels, and the current, 
of this life was so commonplace that it was hard to recall 
those days of patriotic enthusiasms and impulses, and hard to 
believe that Russia was actually in peril, and that the mem- 
bers of the English Club were at the same time “Sons of the 
Fatherland,” and had declared themselves prepared for any 
sacrifice. | 

The only thing that recalled the general spasm of patriotic 
enthusiasm that had taken place during the sovereign’s recent. 
visit to Moscow, was the demand for men and money, which, 
comig now in legal, oficial form, had to be met, the sacrifice 
having once been offered. 

Though the enemy were approaching Moscow, the Mos- 
covites were not inclined to regard their situation with any 
greater degree of seriousness : on the contrary, the matter was 
treated with peculiar lightness, as is always the case with 
people who see a great catastrophe approaching. 

At such a time, two voices are always heard speaking loudly 
in the heart of man: the one, with perfect reasonableness, 
always preaches the reality of the peril, and counsels him to 
seek for means of avoiding it: the other, with a still greater 
show of reason, declares that it is too painful and diffieult to 
think about danger, since it is not in the power of man to fore- 
‘see everything or to escape the inevitable course of events: 
and, therefore, it is better to shut the eyes to the disagreeable, 
until it actually comes, and to think only of the present. 

When a man is alone, he generally gives himself up to the 
first voice, but in society, on the contrary, to the second. And 
this was the case at the present time with the inhabitants of 
Moscow. 





se 


a 


WAR AND PEACE. 189 


Moscow had not been so gay for a long time as it was that 
year. ostopchin’s placards, called affiches, or afishki, were 
read and criticised just as were the couplets of Vasil Lvovitch 
Pushkin.* On the top of them were represented the picture 
of a drinking-house and the tapster and Moscovite meshchanin, 
Karpushka Chigirin, who, having been an old soldier, on hearing 
that Bonaparte was marching upon Moscow, fortified himself 
with a brimming nog of liquor in the shop, flew into a passion, 
heaped every sort of vile epithets upon all the French, stepped 
forth from the drinking-house, and harangued the crowd col- 
lected under the eagle. 

At the club, in the corner room, men collected to read these 
‘bulletins, and some were pleased when Karpushka made sport 
of the French and said, “ They would swell up with cabbage, 
burst their bellies with kasha gruel, choke themselves with shchi, 
that they were all dwarfs, and that a peasant woman would toss 
three of them at once with a pitchfork.” 

Some, however, criticised this tone, and declared that it was 
tude and stupid. It was reported that Rostopchin had sent 
the French, and, indeed, all other foreigners, out of Moscow ; 
‘that Napoleon had spies and agents among them; but this 
story was told merely for the sake of repeating certain sar- 
donic words which Rostopchin was credited with saying about 
their destination. These foreigners were embarked on the 
Volga at Nizhni, and Rostopchin said to them, — 

“ Rentrez en vous-mémes, entrez dans la barque, et n’en faites 
pas une barque de Charon —Creep into yourselves,” that is, 
keep out of sight — “creep on board the boat, and try not to let 
it become a Charon’s bark for you.” 

It was also reported that the courts of justice had been 
removed from the city, and here there was a chance given for 
repeating one of Shinshin’s jests, to the effect that for this, at 
least, Moscow ought to be grateful to Napoleon. 

It was said that Mamonoft’s regiment would cost him eight 
hundred thousand, that Bezukhoi was spending still more on 
his warriors; but the best joke of all was that the count him- 


* Vasili Lvovitch Pushkin, the uncle of the poet Aleksandr Sergyeyevitch 
Pushkin, was born at Moscow in April, 1770; served in the body guard in the 
Izmailovsky regiment till 1797; began to contribute to the Petersburg “ Mer- 
-cury,” 1793; wrote an immense number of epistles, elegies, fables, epigrams, 
madrigals, etc. The war of 1812 sent.him to Nizhni Novgorod, where he 
remained till 1815. He died September 1, 1830, about seven years before his 
more famous namesake was killed. His best known work, ‘ Opdsnut 
'Sosyéd — A Dangerous Neighbor,” has been thrice republished: Munich, 
1815; Leipsic, 1855; Berlin, 1859. Borel 


( 


190 WAR AND PEACE. 


self was going to buckle on his uniform and ride in front of 
his regiment ; and those who would be in the front to see this 
great sight would not sell their chances for any money. 

“You have no mercy on any one,” said Julie Drubetskaya, 
picking up and squeezing a bunch of picked lint between her 
slender fingers covered with rings. : 

Julie had determined to leave: Moscow the next day, and 
she was giving her last reception. “ Bezukhoi is ridicule, but 
he is so good, so kind! What is the pleasure to be so caus-_ 
tique ?” 

“Fined!” exclaimed a young man, in a militia-uniform, - 
whem Juhe called “ Mon chevalier,’ and who was going to 
accompany her to Nizhni. 

In Julie’s set, as in many other sets of Moscow society, it 
had been agreed to speak only in Russian, and those who for- 
got themselves and made use of French words in conversation, © 
had to pay a fine, which was turned over to the committee of 
public defence. 

“That’s a double fine, for a Gallicism,” said a Russian 
author who was in the drawing-room. ‘“ ‘ Pleasure to be’ is 
not good Russian.” ; 

“You show no mercy upon any one,” pursued Julie, paying 
heed to the author’s criticism. 

“For using the word caustique, I admit my guilt, and will 
pay my fine for it, and for the pleasure, to tell you the truth, 
I am ready to pay another fine; but for Gallicisms I am not 
to be held answerable,” she said, turning to the author. “TI 
have neither the money nor the time to hire ateacher and take 
Russian lessons, as Prince Golitsuin is doing.” 

‘“‘ Ah, there he is,” exclaimed Julie. “ Quand on — No, no,” 
said she to the militia-man, “do not count that one, Ill say 
it in Russian: ‘ When we speak of the sun we see his rays,’ ” 
said the hostess, giving Pierre a fascinating smile — “ We 
were just talking about you. We were saying that your regi- 
ment would be really much better than Mamonof’s,” said she, 
with one of those white les so characteristic of society women. 

“Akh! don’t speak to me about my regiment,” replied — 
Pierre, kissing the hostess’s hand, and taking a chair near her. — 
“T am tired to death of it.” 

“But surely you are going to take the command of it your- — 
self?” asked Julie, shooting a glance of cunning and ridicule 
at the militia-man. 

The militia-man in Pierre’s presence was not so caustique, 
and his face expressed some perplexity at the meaning ex 





WAR AND PEACE. 191 


pressed in Julie’s smile. In spite of his absent-mindedness 
and good humor, Pierre’s personality immediately cut short 
all attempts to make a butt of him in his own presence. 
“No,” replied Pierre, with a glance down at his big, portly 
frame, “I should be too good a mark for the French, and. I 
am afraid that I could not get on a horse.” 

Among those who came up as a subject for gossip in the 
course of the shifting conversation were the Rostofs. 

_ “They say their affairs are in a very bad condition,” re- 
marked Julie. “And the count himself is so utterly lacking 
in common sense! The Razumovskys wanted to buy his 
house and his pod-Moskovnaya, and it is still in abeyance. 
He asks too much.”’ 

' “No, I believe the sale was effected a few days ago,” said 
some one. ‘Though now it is nonsense for any one to buy 
property in Moscow.” 

“Why ?” asked Julie. ‘Do you imagine there is any real 
danger for Moscow ? ” 

“ What makes you go away ?”’ 

“T? That is an odd question. I am going because, — be- 
gause, — well I am going because everybody’s going, and 
because I am not a Joan d’Are and not an Amazon.” 

“There, now, give me some more rags.” 

“Tf he can only economize, he may be able to settle all his 
debts,” pursued the militia-man, still speaking of Count 
Rostof. 

“A good old man, but a very pauvre sire. And why have 
they been living here so long? They intended long ago to 
start forthe country. Nathalie, I believe, is perfectly restored 
to health ? —Isn’t she?” asked Jule of Pierre with a mali- 
cious smile. 

“hey are waiting for their youngest son,” replied Pierre. 
“Vie was enrolled among Obolyensky’s Cossacks and was sent 
to Byélaya Tserkov.* The regiment was mobilizing there. 
But now he has been transferred to my regiment and is 
expected every day. The count wanted to start long ago, but 
the countess utterly refused to leave Moscow until her son 
came.” 

_ “YT saw them three days ago at the Arkharofs’. Nathalie 
has grown very pretty again and was very gay. She sang a 
romanza. How easy it is for some people to forget every- 
thing.” 
_ Forget what ?” asked Pierre impulsively. 

* White church. 


192 WAR AND PEACE. 


Julie smiled. “You know, count, that knights like you 
are to be found only in the romances of Madame de Souza.” 

“What sort of knights? Why, what do you mean?” 
asked Pierre, reddening. 

«Oh, fie now! dear count, c'est la fable de tout Moscou. Je 
vous admire, ma parole d’ honneur !” 

“Fined! Fined!” exclaimed the militia-man. 

“Very well, then! It’s impossible to talk; how annoying!” 

““ Qwest ce qui est la fable de tout Moscou?” asked Pierre, 
angrily rising to his feet. 

“Oh! fief count. You know!” 

“T don’t know at all what you mean,” said Pierre. 

“T know that you and Nathalie were good friends, and con- 
sequently — No, I always lked Viera better. Cette chare 
Véra!” 

“ Non, Madame,” pursued Pierre in a tone of annoyance. 
“T have never in the slightest degree taken upon myself to 
play the ré/e of knight to Mlle. Rostova, and I have not been 
at their house for almost a month. But I do not understand 
the cruelty ” — 

“Qui s’excuse s’accuse,” said Julie, smiling and waving the 
lint, and, in order to have the last’ word herself, she abruptly 
changed the conversation. ‘What do you suppose I heard 
last night ? poor Marie Bolkonskaya arrived in Moscow yes- 
terday. Have you heard? She has lost her father!” 

“Really ? Where is she ? I should like very much to see 
her,” said Pierre. 

“T spent last evening with her. She is going to-day or to- 
morrow morning with her little nephew to their pod-Moskoy- 
naya.” 

“But what about her? How is she ?” insisted Pierre. 

“Well, but sad. But do you know who rescued her? It’s 
a perfect romance! Nicolas Rostof! She was surrounded ; 
they would have killed her; her people were wounded. — He 
rushed in and saved her” 

“Lots of romances!” exclaimed the militia-man. “ Really 
this general stampede seems to have been made for providing 
husbands for all the old maids. Catiche is one, the princess 
Bolkonskaya two” — 

“Do you know, ‘eal I think that she is un petit pew 
amoureuse du jeune homme?” 

“Fined! Fined! Fined!” 

“ But really how do you say that in Russian ? ” 


WAR AND PEACE. 193 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


| Wuen Pierre reached home he was handed two of Rostop- 
shin’s bulletins, which had been distributed that very day. 

In the first the count denied having forbidden any one to 
eave Moscow, and declared that, on the contrary, he was de- 
ighted to have ladies of rank and merchants’ wives leave 
sown. ‘Less panic, less gossip!” said the bulletin. “But 
L assure the inhabitants that the villain will never be in 
Moscow.” 

By these words Pierre was for the first time fairly convinced 
jhat the French would get to Moscow. 

The second affiche proclaimed that our headquarters were 

w Viazma, that Count Wittgenstein had beaten the French, 
out that, as very many of the inhabitants had expressed a 
lesire to arm themselves, there were plenty of weapons for 
them at the arsenal: sabres, pistols, muskets, — which could 
ve bought at the lowest prices. 
_ The tone of this affiche was not nearly so full of grim 
aumor as those which had been before attributed to the tap- 
ster Chigirin. Pierre pondered over these bulletins. Evi- 
lently that threatening storm-cloud which he looked forward 
io with all the powers of his soul, andywhich at the same time 
iroused in him involuntary horror, —evidently this storm- 
sloud was drawing near. 

“Shall I enter the military service and join the army, or 
shall I wait ?”” — This question arose in his mind for the hun- 
lredth time. He took a pack of cards which was lying on the 
able near him and began to lay out a game of patience. 

“Tf this game comes out,” said he to himself as he shuffled 
ihe cards, held them in his hand and looked up — “if it comes 
yut right, then it means — What shall it mean ? ” 

Before he had time to decide on what it should mean, he 
eard at the door of his cabinet the voice of the oldest prin- 
sess, asking if she might come in. 

“Well, it shall mean that I must join the army,” said Pierre 
0 himself. — “Come in, come in,” he added, replying to the 
orincess. 

Only the oldest of the three princesses — the one with the 
ong waist —continued to make her home at Pierre’s; the two 
rounger ones were married. 

“Forgive me, mon cousin, for disturbing you,” said she, in 

VOL. 3. — 13. 


194 WAR AND PEACE. 


an agitated voice.. “But you see it is high time to reach some 
decision. What is going to be the outcome of this? Every- 
body is leaving Moscow, and the people are riotous. Why do 
we stay ?” 

“On the contrary, everything looks very propitious, mq 
cousine,”’ said Pierre, in that tone of persiflage which, in order 
to hide his confusion at having to play the part of benefactor 
before the princess, he always adopted in his dealings with 
her. 

“Yes, everything is propitious! Certainly a fine state of 
affairs! This very day Varvara Ivaénovna was telling me how 
our armies had distinguished themselves.. It brings them the 
greatest possible honor. But still the servants are exceed- 
ingly refractory ; they won’t obey at all; my maid — why, 
she was positively insolent! And before we know it they will 
be massacring us. It is impossible to go into the streets. 
But if the French are liable to be here to-day or to-morrow, 
why should we wait for them ? I ask for only one favor, 
mon cousin,” pleaded the princess. ‘“ Give orders to have me 
taken to Petersburg. Whatever I am, I cannot endure to live 
under the sway of Bonaparte !” 

“There, there, ma cousine! Where have you gotten your 
information ? On the contrary ” — 

“T will not submit to your Napoleon! Others may— It 
you do not wish to do this for me” — 

“Yes, I will do it. I will give orders immediately.” 

The princess was evidently annoyed that she had no one 
to quarrel with. She sat on the edge of her chair, muttering 
to herself. | 

“‘ Nevertheless, this has been reported to you all wrong,” 
said Pierre. ‘ All is quiet in the city, and there is not the 
slightest danger. Here, I was just this moment reading.” 
Pierre showed the princess Rostopchin’s bulletins. “The count 
writes that he will be personally responsible for the enemy 
never entering Moscow.” 

“ Akh! this count of yours,” exclaimed the princess, angrily. 
“ He’s a hypocrite, a raseal! who has himself been exciting 
the people to sedition. Wasn’t he the one who wrote in these 
idiotic affiches that, if there was any one found, to take him 
by the top-knot and drag him to the police office — how 
stupid! And whoever should take one should have glory anc 
honor. That is a fine way of doing! Varvara Ivanovna tole 
me that the mob almost killed her because she spoke French.” 

“Well, there’s something in that. But you take everything 


WAR AND PEACE. 195 


too much to heart,” said Pierre, and he began to lay out his 
patience. 

His game of patience came out correctly, and yet Pierre did 

not join the army, but he remained in deserted Moscow, in the 
Same fever of anxiety and indecision and fear, and, at the 
§ame time, joy, though he was expecting something horrible. 
_ Toward evening of the following day the princess took her 
departure, and Pierre’s head overseer came to him with the 
teport that the money required by him for the equipment of 
his regiment could not possibly be raised except by selling 
one of his estates. The head overseer explained’ to him that 
such expensive caprices as fitting out regiments would be his 
tuin. Pierre, with difficulty repressing a smile, listened to 
the man’s despair. 

“Well, sell it, then,” he replied. “'There’s no help for it 
fow. I cannot go back on my promise.” 

The worse the situation of affairs in general, and his own in 

particular, the more agreeable it was to Pierre ; the more evi- 
lent it seemed to him that the long expected catastrophe was 
Trawing near. Already there was almost none of his acquaint- 
ices left in town. Julie had gone; the Princess Mariya had 
zone. Of near acquaintances only the Rostofs were left; but 
Pierre staid away from their house. 
'. That day, in order to get a little recreation, Pierre drove 
mt to the village of Vorontsove to see a great air-balloon, 
which Leppich had built for the destruction of the enemy, and 
utrial balloon, which was to be let off on the next day. This 
dalloon was not yet ready; but, as Pierre knew, it had been 
sonstructed at the sovereign’s desire. The emperor had 
written to Count Rostopchin as follows, in regard to this 
Yalloon : — 

“ As soon as Leppich is ready, furnish him with a crew for 
‘Ms boat, composed of tried and intelligent men, and send a 
sourier to General Kutuzof to inform him. I have already 

ustructed him concerning the affair. 
 “T beg of you to enjoin upon Leppich to be exceedingly 
‘areful where he descends for the first time, that he may not 
make any mistake and fall into the hands of the enemy. It is 
‘ssential that he should co-operate with the commander-in- 
ihief.” * 
*“ Aussitot que. Léppich sera prét, composez lui un equipage pour sa 
‘acelle d’hommes surs et intelligents et depéchez un courrier au général Kou- 
‘ouzoff pour Ven prevenir. Je Vai instruit de la.chose. Recommandez, je 
jOus prie, a Léppich @étre bien attentif sur Vendroit ou il descendra la pre- 
vrere fois, pour ne pas se tromper et ne pas tomber dans les mains de Venne- 
‘tb Tl est indispensable qwil combine ses mouvements avec le général-en-chef.” 


196 WAR AND*‘PEACE. 


On his way home from Vorontsovo, as he was crossing the 
Bolétnaya Pléshchad, Pierre saw a great crowd collected around 
the Lébnoye Myésto (place of executions); he stopped and got | 
out of his drozhsky. ‘They were watching the punishment of a | 
French cook, charged with being a spy. The flogging had 
only just come to an end, and the executioner was untying | 
from “the mare,” or whipping-post, a stout man, with reddish 
side-whiskers, dressed in blue stockings and a green kamzol, | 
who was piteously groaning. Another prisoner, lean and. | 
pallid, was also standing there. Both, to judge by their faces, | 
were French.” Pierre, with a face as scared and pale as that | 
of the lean Frenchman, elbowed his way through the throng. | 

“What does this mean? Who is it? What have they | 
done?” he demanded. But the attention of the throng — | 
chinovniks, burghers, merchants, peasants, and women in | 
cloaks and furs —was so eagerly concentrated on what was | 
taking place on the Lébnoye Myésto that no one replied to | 
him. , 

The stout man straightened himself up, shrugged his shoul- | 
ders with a scowl, and, evidently wishing to make a show of | 
stoicism, and not looking around him, tried to put on his | 
kamzol; but suddenly his lips trembled, and he burst into | 
tears, as though he was angry at himself, just as full-grown || 
men of sanguine temperament are apt to weep. The crowd 
gave vent to loud remarks —as it seemed to Pierre, for the 
sake of drowning their own sense of compassion. 

“Some prince’s cook ” — 

“ Well, Moosioo, evidently Russian sauce goes well with a | 
Frenchman. Set your teeth on edge? Hey?” cried a | 
wrinkled law clerk, standing near Pierre, as the Frenchman | 
burst into tears. The law clerk glanced around, expecting | 
applause for his sarcasm. <A few laughed, a few continued to 
gaze with frightened curiosity at the executioner, who was 
stripping the second. Pierre gave a snort, scowled deeply, | 
and, swiftly returning to his drozhsky, kept muttering to him- | 
self even after he was once more seated. During the transit | 
he several times shuddered, and cried out so loud that the | 
driver asked him: — : 

“What do you order ? ” 

“Where on earth are you going?” shouted Pierre as the 
coachman turned down the Lubyanka. RG 

‘You bade me drive to the govermor-general’s,” replied the» 
coachman. At 

“Jdiot ! ass!” screamed Pierre, berating his coachman as} 





WAR AND PEACE. 197 


‘e scarcely ever had been known to do. “I ordered you ta 
rive home, and make haste, you blockhead! I have got to get 
ff this very day,” muttered Pierre to himself. 

Pierre, at the sight of the flogged Frenchmen and the 
jrong surrounding the Lébnoye Myésto, had come to so defi- 
ite a decision not to stay another day in Moscow but to join 
ae army immediately, that it seemed to him he had already 
oken to his coachman about it, or at least that the coach- 
jan was in duty bound to have known it. 

On reaching home Pierre gave his coachman, Yevstafye- 
itch, who knew everything, and could do everything, and 
ras one of the notabilities of Moscow, orders to have his sad- 
jle-horses sent to Mozhaisk, where he was going that very 
‘ay to join the army. 

_ It was impossible to do everything on that one day, how- 
ver, and accordingly Pierre, on Yevstafyevitch’s representa- 
jon, postponed his departure to the following day, so that 
slays of horses might be sent on ahead. 

'On the fifth of September foul weather was followed by fair, 
ind that day after\dinner Pierre left Moscow. In the even- 
aig, while stopping to change horses at Perkhushkovo, Pierre 
earned that a great battle had been fought that afternoon. 
fe was told that there at Perkhushkovo the cannon had 
haken the ground; but when Pierre inquired who had been 
‘ictorious, no one could give him any information. 

This was the battle of Shevardino, which was fought on 

be fifth of September. 
' By daybreak Pierre was at Mozhaisk. All the houses at 
fozhaisk were filled with troops; and at the tavern, in the 
‘ard of which Pierre was met by his grooms and coachmen, 
‘here were no rooms to be had. All the places were pre- 
mpted by officers. 

In the town and behind the town, everywhere, regiments 

Tere stationed: or on the move. Cossacks, infantry, cavalry, 
-aggage wagons, caissons, cannons, were to be seen on all 
‘ides. 
Pierre made all haste to reach the front, and the farther he 
ent from Moscow, and the deeper he penetrated into this sea 
f troops, the more he was overmastered by anxiety, disqui- 
‘tude, and a feeling of joy, which he had never before experi- 
need. It was somewhat akin to that which he had experi- 
need at the Slobodsky palace, at the time of the sovereign’s 
isit, — a feeling that it was indispensable to do something 
nd make some sacrifice. 





198 WAR AND PEACE. 


He now felt the pleasant consciousness that all that consti 
tutes the happiness of men — the comforts of life, wealtli 
even (ife itself — was rubbish, which it was a delight to re 
nounce in favor of something else. 

Still Pierre could not account to himself, and indeed h 
made no attempt to analyze, for whom or for what the sacrifice 
of everything, which gave him such a sense of charm, wai 
made. He did not trouble himself with the inquiry for wha’ 
he wished to sacrifice himself; the mere act of sacrifice con 
stituted for him a new and joyful feeling. 





CHAPTER XIX. : 


Own the fifth of September was fought the battle at the 
redoubt of Shevardino; on the sixth not a single shot was 
fired on either side; on the seventh came the battle of Boro 
dino. 

For what’ purpose and how was it that these battles al 
Shevardino and Borodino were fought ? Why was the battle 
of Borodino fought? Neither for the French nor for the 
Russians had it the slightest rheaning. The proximate resulf 
was, and necessarily was, for the Russians an onward step 
toward the destruction of Moscow —-a thing that we dreadec 
more than anything else in the world ;— and for the French 
an onward step toward the destruction of their entire army — 
a thing that they dreaded more than anything else in the 
world, This result was therefore fully to be expected, ané 

lL 





yet Napoleon offered battle, and Kutuzof accepted his cha 
lenge. 

If the commanders had been governed by motives of reason 
it would seem as if it ought to have been clear to Napo: 
leon that, at a distance of two thousand versts in an enemy £ 
country, to accept a battle under the evident risk of losing 4 
quarter of his army was to march to certain destruction; an 
it should have been equally as clear to Kutuzof that, ic 
accepting an engagement, and in likewise risking the loss of 
half of his army, he was actually losing Moscow. For Kutw 
zof this was mathematically demonstrable, just as in a game 
of checkers, if I have one draught less than my adversary, by 
exchanging I lose, and, therefore, I ought not to risk the ex 
change. 

If my adversary has sixteen checkers, and I have fourteen 
then I am only one-eighth weaker than he is; but when ] 





WAR AND PEACE. 199 


aall have exchanged thirteen draughts with him, then he 
acomes thrice as strong as I am. 
‘Up to the battle of Borodino our forces were to the French 
i the approximate proportion of five to six, but after the 
attle, of one to two. That is, before the battle, 100,000: 
20,000; but after the battle, 50: 100. And yet the wise and 
xperienced Kutuzof accepted battle. 
Napoleon, also, the leader of genius, as he was called, 
fered battle, losing a fourth of his army, and still further 
«tending his line. If it be said that he expected, by the 
scupation of Moscow, to end the campaign, as he did in 
ve case of Vienna, this theory can be rebutted by many 
roofs. The historians of Napoleon themselves admit that he 
‘as anxious to call a halt at Smolensk; that he knew the risk 
eran in his extended position, and knew that the capture of 
loscow would not be the end of the campaign, because he 
ad seen, by the example of Smolensk, in what a state the 
jussian cities would be left to him, and he did not receive a 
mele response to his reiterated offers for negotiations. 
In offering and accepting the battle of Borodino, Kutuzof and 
fapoleon both acted contrary to their intentions and their 
ood sense. But the historfans have affected to fit to these 
scomplished facts an ingeniously woven tissue of proofs of 
ie foresight and genius of these commanders, who, of all the 
voluntary instruments for the execution of cosmic events, 
rere the most totally subject and involuntary. 
The ancients left us examples of historical poems in which 
ae heroes themselves constitute all the interest of the story ; 
nd we cannot yet accustom ourselves to the fact that history 
f this kind, applied to our own day, is wholly lacking in 
pmse. - 
As to the second questiorf: how came the battle of Borodino 
nd the battle of Shevardino, which preceded it, to be fought ? 
ere exists an explanation just as positive and universally 
nown, but absolutely fallacious. All the historians describe 
ae affair as follows : — 

The Russian army, in its retreat from Smolensk, sought 
te most favorable position for a general battle, and found such 
position at Borodino. 
The Russians beforehand fortified this position at the left 
f the road, almost in a right angle from Borodino to Utitsa, 
ve very point where the battle was fought. 
_In front of this position, to keep watch of the enemy, a for- 
fied redoubt was established upon the hill of Shevardino. On 


200 WAR AND PEACE. 


the fifth of September, Napoleon attacked the redoubt, and too: 
it by storm ; September 7, he attacked the entire Russian army 
which was then in position on the field of Borodino. 

Thus it is described in the histories; and yet the whol 
thing is perfectly wrong, as any one may be easily convince: 
who will care to investigate the facts. 

The Russians did not seek the most favorable position; but 
on the contrary, in their retreat they passed by many position: 
which were more favorable than the one at Borodino. The) 
did not halt at any one of these positions, because Kutuzo 
would not occupy any position that he had not himself selected 
and because the popular demand for an engagement was no 
yet expressed with sutficient force; and because Milorado 
vitch had not come up with the landwehr ; and for many othe: 
reasons besides, which are too numerous to mention. 

It is a fact that the former positions were superior it 
strength, and that the position at Borodino — the one wher 
the battle was fought — was not only not strong, but was i 
no respect superior to any other position in the whole Russiar 
empire, such as one might at haphazard point out on the maj 
with a pin. 

The Russians not only did not fortify their position on the 
field of Borodino, at the left, at a right angle to the road —in 
other words, at the place where the battle took place — but 
moreover, up till the sixth of September, they never ever 
dreamed of the possibility of a battle taking place there. 

This is proved, in the first place, by the fact that until the 
sixth of September there were no fortifications on the ground 
but, moreover, the defences begun on the sixth were not ever 
completed on the seventh. 

In the second place, this is proved by the position of tht 
Shevardino redoubt: a redoubt at Shevardino, in front of the 
position where the battle was accepted, had no sense. Why 
was this redoubt fortified more strongly than all the othe 
points ? And why were the troops weakened, and six thousané 
men sacrificed, in vain ey to hold this position until late 
on the night of the fifth ? For all observations of the ene 
a Cossack patrol would have been sufficient. 

In the third place, that the position where the battle was 
fought was not a matter of foresight, and that the Shevardine 
redoubt was not the advanced work of this position, is proved 
by the fact that Barclay de Tolly and Bagration, up to the 
sixth instant, were convinced that the Shevardino redoubt was 
the deft flank of the position; and even Kutuzof himself, in 


WAR AND PEACE. 201 


s report, written in hot haste after the battle, calls the She- 
dino redoubt the deft flank of the position. 
It was only some time subsequently, when the report of the 
‘ttle of Borodino was written, with abundant time for reflec- 
yn, that, probably for the sake of smoothing over the blunder 
the commander-in- chief, who had to be held infallible, the 
Ise and strange ideas were promulgated that the Shevardino 
doubt made ‘the advanced post: when, in reality, it was 
ity an intrenchment on the left flank ; and that the battle 
Borodino was accepted by us in a position well forti- 
‘d, and selected in advance: when, in reality, it was fought 
a position perfectly unpremeditated, and almost unfor- 
Ged. 
‘The affair, evidently, happened this way: a position was 
lected on the river Kalotcha, where it crosses the highroad, 
% at right, but at acute angles, so that the left flank ‘was at 
jevardino, the right not far from the village of Novoye; and 
e centre at Borodino, near the confluence of the rivers Kalot- 
va and Voina. ‘That this was the position, covered by the 
ver Kalotcha, for an army having for its end to check an 
‘emy moving along the Smolensk highway, against Moscow, 
ust be evident to any one who studies the battle-tield of 
yrodino, and forgets how the battle really took place. 
‘Napoleon, who reached Valuyevo on the fifth of September, 
‘led — so the histories tell us—to discover the position 
the Russians, stretching from Utitsa to Borodino, — he 
‘uld not have discovered this position because there was no 
eh position, —and did not discover the advanced post of the 
assian army, but, in pursuing the Russian rearguard, he 
ove them in upon the left flank of the position of the Rus- 
ws at the Shevardino redoubt, and, unexpectedly to the 
-assians, crossed the Kalotcha with his troops. And the Rus- 
‘us, not having succeeded in bringing on a general engage- 
nt, withdrew their left wing from a position which they 
‘d intended to hold, and took up another position, which was 
‘t anticipated and not fortified. 
‘Napoleon, having crossed over to the left bank of the 
alotcha at the left of the highway, transferred the coming 
‘ttle from the right to left (relative to the Russians) and 
ought it into the field between Utitsa, Semenovskoye, and 
»rodino — into a field which had no earthly advantage over 
'y other field that might have been chosen at random any- 
ere in Russia——and here it was that the great battle took 
ace on the seventh, 





202 WAR AND PEACE. 


Roughly sketched, the plan of the ideal battle and of the 
actual battle is here appended : — 


— 


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latte: 










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Of Phe.” 


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osition 


Ayal, 


Actual p 
- during the 


If Napoleon had not reached the Kalotcha on the afternoon! 
of the fifth and had not given orders immediately to storm} 
the redoubt, but had postponed the attack until the next) 
morning, no one could seriously doubt that the Shevardind 
redoubt would have been the left flank of our position and the 
battle would have been fought as we expected. In such ¢ 
contingency, we should have defended still more stubbornly 
the Shevardino redoubt as being our left flank; we shoul¢ 
have attacked Napoleon at his centre or right, and on the fiftl] 
of September there would have been a general engagement 11) 
that position which had been previously selected and defended, 







WAR AND PEACE. 208), 


~ 


But as the attack on our left flank was made in the after 
oon, after the retreat of our rearguard, that is to say, imme- 
lately after the skirmish at Gridneva, and as the Russian 
iaders would not or could not begin a general engagement in 
1e afternoon of the fifth, therefore the principal action of the 
wttle of Borodino was already practically lost on the fifth, 
id undoubtedly led to the loss of the battle that was fought 
1 the seventh. 

After the loss of the Shevardino redoubt on the morning of 
1e sixth, we were left without any position on our left flank 
ad were reduced to the necessity of straightening our left 
ing and of making all haste to fortify it as best we 
yald. 

‘Not only were the Russian troops on the seventh of Sep- 
mber protected by feeble, unfinished intrenchments, but the 
sadvantage of this situation was still further enhanced by the 
et that the Russian leaders, refusing to recognize a fact 
ttled beyond a peradventure,—namely, the loss of their 
afences on the left flank and the transfer of the whole future 
igagement from right to left —remained in their altogether 
io extended position from Novoye to Utitsa, and the conse- 
aence was they were obliged, during the engagement, to 
ansfer their troops from right to left. 

Thus, throughout the engagement, the Russians had the 
itire force of the French army directed against their left 
ing, which was not half as strong. (Poniatowski’s demon- 
tation against Utitsa and Uvarovo on the right flank of 
le French was independent of the general course of the 
ttle.) 

Thus the battle of Borodino was fought in a way entirely 
fferent from the descriptions of it which were written for 
le purpose of glossing over the mistakes of our leaders and 
msequently dimming the glory of the Russian army and 
tople. The battle of Borodino did not take place on a se- 
¢ted and fortified position or with forces only slightly dis- 
‘oportioned, but the battle, in consequence of the loss of the 
levardino redoubt, was accepted by the Russians at an ex- 
sed and almost unfortified position, with forces doubly 
tong opposed to them; in other words, under conditions 
hereby it was not only unfeasible to fight ten hours and then 
ave the contest doubtful, but unfeasible to keep the army 
“en three hours from absolute confusion and flight. 





/ 


204 WAR AND PEACE. 


CHAPTER XX. 


Prerre left Mozhaisk on the morning of the seventh. 

On the monstrously steep and precipitous hillside dowt) 
which winds the road from the city, just beyond the cathedra| 
that crowns the hill on the right, where service was going. oj 
and the bells were pealing, Pierre dismounted from his car 
riage and proceeded on foot. 

Behind him came, laboriously letting themselves down, ; 
regiment of cavalry led by its singers. | 

A train of telyegas, full of men wounded in the last evel) 
ing’s engagement, met him on its way up the hill. The peas 
ant drivers, shouting at their horses and lashing them wit! 
their knouts, ran from one side to the other. The telyegas 
on which lay or sat three and four wounded soldiers, bumpej 
over the rough stones which were scattered about and did dut} 
as a causeway on the steep road. The soldiers, bandaged wit| 
rags, pale, and with compressed lips and knit brows, clung t 
the sides as they were bounced and jolted in the carts 
Nearly all of them looked with naive, childlike curiosity a 
Pierre’s white hat and green coat. | 

Pierre’s coachman shouted angrily to the ambulance trai: 
to keep to one side. The cavalry regiment with their singers 
as they came down the hill, overtook Pierre’s drozhsky an} 
blocked up the whole road. Pierre halted, squeezing himse]) 
to the very edge of the road, which was hollowed out of th! 
hillside. ‘The hillside shelved over, and as the sun did n¢ 
succeed in penetrating into this ravine, it was cool and dam 
there. Over Pierre was the bright August morning sky, aii 
the merry pealing of the chimes rang through the air. | 

One team with its load of wounded drew up at the edge ¢ 
the road near where Pierre had halted.. The teamster, in hj 
bast shoes, and puffing with the exercise, came running ll 
with some stones, and hastily blocked the hinder wheels, whie| 
were untired, and proceeded to arrange the breeching of hi 
little, patient horse. | 

An old soldier who had been wounded and had one arm i 
a sling and was following the telyega on foot, took hold of | 
with his sound hand and looked at Pierre. 

“ Say, friend,* will they leave us here, or is it to Moscow 4 





















* Zemlidtchek, affectionate diminutive of zemlidk, countryman, felloy 
countryman. 


WAR AND PEACE. * 205 


Pierre was so absorbed in his thoughts that he did not hear 

vyhat the man said. He stared now at the cavalry regiment, 
vyhich had met face to face with the ambulance train, and now 
it the telyega, which had halted near him with two wounded 
nen sitting up and one lying down, and it seemed to him that 
aere was the definite solution of the question that perplexed 
iim so. 
| One of the two soldiers sitting in the cart had been appar. 
antly wounded in the cheek. His whole head was bound up 
n rags, and one cheek was swollen up as big as the head of a 
thild. His mouth and nose were all on one side. This soldier 
ooked at the cathedral, and crossed himself. : 
_ The other, a young lad, a raw recruit, blond, and as pale as 
though his delicate face was completely bloodless, gazed at 
Pierre with a fixed, good-natured smile. 

The third was lying down, and his face was hidden. 

The cavalry singers had now come abreast of the telyega: — 


“* Akh! zapropala — da yezhova golovd, 
|. Da! na chuzhéi storoné zhivutchi.”’ 


“ Yes, living in a foreign land,” rang out the voices, trolling 
i soldiers’ dancing-song. As though seconding the merry song, 
mit in a different strain, far up from the heights above pealed 
jhe metallic sounds of the cathedral chimes. And, in still 
mother strain of gayety, the bright sunbeams flooded the 
summit of the acclivity over opposite. But under the hill- 
side where Pierre stood, near the telyega with the wounded 
nen and the little panting horse, it was damp, and in shadow 
and in gloom. | 
| The soldier with the swollen cheek looked angrily at the 
savalry singers. 

“ Okh! the dandies!” he muttered, scornfully. 

“T have seen something besides soldiers to-day: muzhiks 
s what I have seen! Muzhiks, and whipped into battle, 
500!” said the soldier standing behind the telyega, and turn- 
ng to Pierre with a melancholy smile. “Not much picking 
and choosing nowadays. They are trying to sweep in the 
whole nation —in one word, Moscow. They want to do it at 
me fell swoop.” 

In spite of the incoherence of the soldier’s words, Pierre 
inderstood all that he meant, and he nodded his head affirma- 
ively. , 
| The road was at last cleared, and Pierre walked to the foot 


906 — WAR AND PEACE. 


of the hill, and then proceeded on his way. He drove along, 
glancing at both sides of the road, trying to distinguish some 
familiar face, and everywhere encountering only strangers be- 
longing to the various divisions of the troops, who, without 
exception, looked with amazement at his white hat and green 
coat. 

After proceeding about four versts he met his first acquaint- 
ance, and joyfully accosted him. This acquaintance was one 
of the physicians to the staff. Pierre met him as he came driv- 
ing along in his britchka, accompanied by a young doctor, and 
when he recognized Pierre he ordered the Cossack who was 
seated on the box in place of his coachman to stop. 

“Count! your illustriousness! How come you here ?” 

“Why, I wanted to see what was going on.” 

“Well, you’ll have enough to see.” 

Pierre got out again, and paused to talk with the doctor, 
to whom he confided his intention of taking part in the 
battle. . 

The doctor advised Bezukhoi to apply directly to his serene 
highness. ‘God knows what would become of you during a 
battle if you are not with friends,” said he, exchanging glances 
with his young colleague; “but his serene highness, of course, 
knows you, and will receive you graciously. Vd do that if I 
were you, batyushka,” said the doctor. $ 

The doctor looked tired and sleepy. 

“You think so, do you? But I was going to ask you— 
where is our position? ” said Pierre. | 

“Our position ?” repeated the doctor. “That is something 
that is not in my line. Go to Tatarinovo. Lot of them dig- 
ging something or other there. There you'll find a hill, 
and from the top of it you can get a goed view,” said the 
doctor. 

“ A good view ?” repeated Pierre. “If you would” — 

But the doctor interrupted him, and turned to his britchka. 

“T would show you the way; yes, 1 would, by God — but” 
(and the doctor indicated his throat) “I am called to a corps 
commander. You see how it is with us? You know, count, 
there’s a battle to-morrow: out of a hundred thousand, we 
must count on at least twenty thousand wounded. And we 
have neither stretchers nor hammocks nor assistant surgeons 
nor medicines enough for even six thousand! We have ten 
thousand telyegas, but something else is necessary, certainly. 
We must do the best we can.” 

The strange thought that out of all these thousands ot 


WAR AND PEACE. 207 


living, healthy men, young and old, who looked at his white 
aat with such jovial curiosity, probably twenty thousand were 
loomed to suffer wounds and death (maybe the very men whom 
ae that moment saw), struck Pierre. | 

“They, very possibly, will be dead men to-morrow; why, 
shen, can they be thinking of anything besides death ?” 

_ And, suddenly, by some mysterious association of ideas, he 
aad a vivid recollection of the steep descent from Mozhaisk — 
she telyegas with the wounded, the chiming bells, the slanting 
rays of the sun, and the songs of the cavalrymen. 

“The cavalry are going into action, and they meet the 
wounded, and not for a single instant do they think of what 
is awaiting them, but they gallop by and greet the wounded ; 
wd out of all these men, twenty thousand are doomed to die, 
md yet they are interested in my hat! Strange!” thought 
Pierre, as he proceeded on his way to Tatarinovo. 

_ At the mansion of a landed proprietor, on the left-hand side 
af the road, stood equipages, baggage wagons, a throng of den- 
shchiks and sentinels. Here his serene highness was quar- 
jered, but when Pierre arrived he was out, and almost all of his 
staff. All were at a Te Deum service. 

Pierre drove on farther, to Gorki. Mounting the hill, and 
passing beyond the narrow street of the village, Pierre saw for 
she first time the peasant-landwehr, with crosses on their caps, 
ind in white shirts, working with a will, with boisterous talk 
ind laughter at something, on a high, grass-grown mound to 
she right of the road. 

Some of them had shovels, and were digging at the hill; 
ythers were transporting dirt in wheelbarrows, along planks ; 
still others were standing about, doing nothing. ‘Two officers 
were stationed on the mound, directing operations. 

Pierre, seeing these muzhiks evidently enjoying the novelty 
of military service, again recalled the wounded soldiers at 
Mozhaisk, and he saw still deeper meaning in what the sol- 
lier had tried to express when he said they are trying to 
sweep in the whole nation. The sight of these bearded mu- 
thiks working in the battle-field, in their clumsy boots, with 
sheir sweaty necks, and some with shirt-collars rolled back, 
*xposing to sight their sunburned collar-bones, made a deeper 
mpression on Pierre than all else that he had seen or heard 
aitherto concerning the solemnity and significance of the 
wtual crisis. 


208 WAR AND PEACE. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


Pirrre left his equipage, and, passing by the laboring land- 
wehr, he directed his steps to the mound, from which, as the 
doctor had told him, the whole battle-field was visible. 

It was eleven o’clock in the morning. The sun stood a trifle 
to Pierre’s left and rear, and sent its beams down through the 
pure, rarefied atmosphere, brilliantly lighting up the immense 
panorama of hill and vale that spread before him, as in an 
amphitheatre. 

Above, and to the left, cutting across this amphitheatre, he 
could see the great Smolensk highway, passing through a vil- 
lage with a white church situated five hundred paces distant 
from the mound and below it. This was Borodino. Near this 
village the road crossed the river by a bridge, and, winding 
and bending, mounted higher and higher, till it reached Va. 
luyevo, visible six versts away. (Here Napoleon now was.) 
Beyond Valuyevo the road was lost to sight in a forest, which. 
showed yellow against the horizon. In this forest of birches 
and firs, to the left from the highway, could be seen glisten- 
ing in the sun the distant cross and belfry of the Kolotsky 
monastery. Over all this blue distance, to the left and to the 
right of the forest and the road, in various positions, could be 
seen the smoke of camp-fires, and indeterminate masses of the 
French and Russian troops. 

At the right, looking down the rivers Kalotcha and Moskva, 
the country was full of ravines and hills. Among these hills, 
far away, could be seen the villages of Bezzubovo and Zakha- 
rino. At the left the country was more level; there werd 
cornfields, and the ruinseof a village that had been set on fire, 
Semenovskoye, were still smoking. , . 

All that Pierre saw on his right hand and his left was so 
confused that he found nothing that in any degree answerei 
to his expectations. Nowhere could he find any such field of 
battle as he had counted upon seeing, but only fields, clearings, 
troops, woodland, bivouac fires, villages, hills, brooks; and m 
spite of all his efforts he could not make out any definite posi- 
tion in this varied landscape, nor could he even distinguis)t 
our troops from the enemy’s. 

“I must ask of some one who knows,” he said to himself, 
and he addressed himself to one of the officers, who was look- 
ing inquisitively at his huge, unmilitary figure, 


WAR AND PEACE. 209 


“ May I ask,” said Pierre, turning to this officer, “what that 
village is yonder?” 

“Burdino, isn’t it?” replied the officer, referring to his 
30mrade. 

“ Borodino,” said the other, correcting him. 

The officer, evidently pleased to have a chance to talk, 
approached Pierre. 

_ * Are those ours yonder ? ” 
| “Yes, and still farther are the French,” said the officer. 
“There they are, there. Can you see ?” 
' “Where ? where?” asked Pierre. 

“ You can see them with the naked eye. See there.” 

_ The officer pointed at the columns of smoke rising at the 
‘eft, on the farther side of the river, and his face assumed that 

stern and grave expression which Pierre had noticed on many 
faces that he had lately seen. 
_ “Ahtis that the French? But who are yonder?” Pierre 

ndicated a mound at the left, where troops were also visible. 

mm, Chose are ours.” 
| “Oh, ours! But there?” Pierre pointed to another hill in 
‘he distance, where there was a tall tree near a village show- 
‘ng up in a valley, and with smoking bivouace fires and a strange 
lack mass. 

“That is he again,” explained the officer (this was the She- 
‘ardino redoubt). ‘“ Yesterday it was ours, but now it’s his.” 
' “What is our position ? ” 

“Our position,” repeated the officer, with a smile of satisfac- 
ion: “ I can explain it to you clearly, because I arranged almost 
ll our defences. There, do you see ? our centre is at Borodino, 
‘ver yonder.” He pointed to the village with the white church, 
arectly in front. “There is where you cross the Kalotcha. 
“hen here, do you see, down in that bottom land, where the 
mndrows of hay are lying ?—there is a bridge there. That 
sourcentre. Our right flank is about yonder,” — he indicated 
“place far distant, between the hills at the extreme right, — 
‘the river Moskva is there, and there we have thrown up three 
‘ery strong earthworks. Our left flank” —here the officer 
esitated. “ You see, that is somewhat hard to explain to you. 
esterday our left flank was yonder at Shevardino; there, do 
‘ou see, where that oak-tree is? but now we have withdrawn 
‘ae left wing, and now, — now do you see, yonder, that village 
nd the smoke, that is Semenovskoye, —it is about there.” 
‘fe pointed to the hill of Rayevsky. “But it’s hard to tell if 
ne action will come off there. He has brought his forces in 
VOL. 3. — 14. 


\ 





\ 
910 WAR AND PEACE. 





















that direction, but that’s a ruse. He will probably try to out. 
flank us from the side of the Moskva. Well, at all events, a 
good many of us will be counted out to-morrow,” said the officer. 

An old non-commissioned officer, who had approached the 
speaker while he was talking, waited until his superior should 
finish, but at this juncture, evidently dissatisfied with what 
the officer was saying, interrupted him. “We must send for 
gabions,” said he gravely. | | 

The officer seemed to be abashed, seemed to come to a real- 
izing sense that, while it was permissible to think how many 
would be missing on the morrow, it was not proper to speak 
about it. 

“ All right, send Company Three again,” said the officer hur- 
riedly. “And who are you? One of the doctors, are you ? ” 

“No, I was merely looking.” And Pierre again descended 
the hill, past the men of the landwehr. 

«“ Akh! curse’em !” exclaimed the officer, following him and 
holding his nose as he ran by the laborers. 

“There they are!” — “They’ve got here, they’re coming !”’ 
— “There they are!” — “They’ll be here in a minute!” — 
such were the exclamations suddenly heard, and officers, 
soldiers, and the men of the landwehr rushed down the road. 

Up the long slope of the hill came a church procession fron 
Borodino. At the forefront, along the dusty road, in fine order, 
came a company of infantry with their shakoes off, and trail- 
ing arms. Back of the infantry was heard a church chant. 

Soldiers and landwehr men, outstripping Pierre, ran ahe 
to meet the coming procession. | 

“They are bringing our Matuskha! The Intercessor. The 
Iverskaya Virgin!” | | 

“The Smolensk Matushka,” said another, correcting the 
former speaker. 

The landwehr men, both those who belonged to the village 
and those who had been working at the battery, threw dow 
their shovels and ran to meet the procession. 

Behind the battalion which came marching along the dusty 
road walked the priests in their chasubles, — one little old ma 
in a cowl, accompanied by the clergy and chanters. Behind 
them, soldiers and officers bore a huge ikon, with tarnished face 
in its frame. This was the ikon which had been brought away 
from Smolensk, and had ever since followed the army. Be 
hind it and around it and in front of it came hurrying throng 
of soldiers, baring their heads and making obeisances to the 
very ground, 


WAR AND PEACE. 911 


| When the ikon reached the top of the hill it stopped. The 
men who had been lugging the holy image on carved staves 
were relieved, the diatchoks again kindled their censers, and 
the Te Deum began. The sun poured his hot rays straight 
lown from the zenith; a faint, fresh breeze played with the 
hair on the uncovered heads, and fluttered the ribbons with 
Which the ikon was adorned; the chant sounded subdued under 
she vault of heaven. | , 

__ A tremendous throng of officers, soldiers, and landwehr men, 
all with uncovered heads, surrounded the ikon. Back of the 
priest and diatchdék, on a space cleared and reserved, stood 
she officers of higher rank. One bald-headed general, with the 
‘George around his neck, stood directly back of the priest and 
lid not cross himself,—he was evidently a German, — but 
waited patiently for the end of the Te Deum, which he con- , 
sidered it necessary to listen to, probably so as to arouse the 
patriotism of the Russian nation. 

_ Another general stood in a military position, and kept 
moving his hand in front of his chest and glancing around. 

| Pierre, who had taken his position amid a throng of mu- 
thiks, recognized a number of acquaintances in this circle of 
officials; but he did not look at them; his whole attention 
was absorbed by the serious expression on the faces of the 
shrong of soldiers and militia, with one consent gazing with 
tapt devotion at the wonder-working ikon. 

When the weary sacristans — who had been performing the 
Te Deum for the twentieth time — began to sing “Save from 
their sorrows thy servants, Holy Mother of God!” and the 
iriest and diatchék, in antiphonal service, took up the strain, 
‘Verily we all take refuge in Thee, as in a steadfast bul- 
wark and defence,” Pierre noticed that all faces wore that 
*Xpression of consciousness of the solemnity of the moment, 
which he had marked at the foot of the hill near Mozhaisk, 
ind by fits and snatches on many faces that had met him that 
morning. Heads were bent even more frequently, hair tossed 
‘Ip, and sighs and the sounds of crosses striking chests were 
‘ieard. - 

' The throng surrounding the ikon suddenly opened its ranks 
ind jostled against Pierre. 

' Some one, evidently a very important personage, to judge 
‘y the eagerness with which they made way for him, ap- 
»roached the ikon. 

! It was Kutuzof, who had been out reconnoitring the posi- 
‘ion, On his way to Tatarinovo, he came to hear the Te Deum 





’ 


PA BY WAR AND PEACE. 


service. Pierre instantly recognized him by the peculiarity 
of his figure, which distinguished him from all the throng. | 

In a long overcoat, covering the huge bulk of his body, with 
a stoop in his back, with his white head bared, and with his 
hollow, white eye and puffy cheeks, Kutuzof advanced with 
his plunging, staggering gait inside the circle, and stood be- 
hind the priest. He crossed himself with a reverent gesture, 
touched his hand to the ground, and with a deep sigh bent his 
gray head. Behind Kutuzof were Benigsen and his suite. 
Notwithstanding the presence of the commander-in-chief, who 
attracted the attention of all those of higher rank, the men 
of the landwehr and the soldiers, without looking at him, con- 
tinued to offer their prayers. 

When the service was concluded, Kutuzof went to the ikon, 
heavily let himself down on one knee, bowed to the ground; 
then he tried for some time to rise; his weight and feebleness 
made his efforts vain. His gray head shook from side to side 
in his exertion. 

At last he got to his feet again, and, with a childishly naive 
thrusting-out of his lips, kissed the ikon and again bent over 
and touched the ground with his hand. The generals present 
followed his example; then the officers, and then, crowding, 
pushing, jostling, and stepping on each other, with excited 
faces came the soldiers and militia. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


ExtricATine himself from the crowd that pressed, about 
him, Pierre looked around. 

“Count, Piotr Kiriluitch! How come you here?” cried 
some one’s voice. Pierre looked in that direction. Boris 
Drubetskoi, brushing the dust from his knee,—he had ap- 
parently, like the rest, been making his genuflections before 
the ikon, — came up to Pierre, smiling. Boris was elegantly 
attired, with just a shade of the wear and tear from haying 
been on service. He wore a long frock coat and a whip over 
his shoulder in imitation of Kutuzof. 

Kutuzof, meantime, had returned to the village, and sat 
down in the shadow cast by the adjoining house, on a bench 
brought out in all haste by a Cossack, while another had 
covered it with a rug. A large and brilliant suite gathered 
about him. 

The ikon had gone farther on its way, accompanied by a 


WARK AND PEACE. 213 


arong. Pierre, engaged in talking with Boris, remained 
sanding about thirty paces from Kutuzof. He was explain- 
ag his intention of being present at the battle, and of recon- 
oitring the position. 

| “You do this way,” said Boris. “Je vous ferai les honneurs 
ucamp. The best thing is for you to see the whole affair 
‘com where Count Benigsen will be. You see, I am with 
im. I will propose it to him. And if you would like to 
‘ide round the pogition we will do it together: we are just 
-oing over to the left flank. And when we return I will beg 
,ou to do me the favor of spending the night with me and we 
nil get up a party. I think you are acquainted with Dmitri 
nergeyevitch. He lodges over yonder.” 

_ He indicated the third house in Gorki. 
| “But I should hke to see the right flank ; it is very strong,” 
jrotested Pierre. “I should like to ride over the whole posi- 
‘ion, from the Moskva River.” 

“ Well, you can do that afterwards; but the main thing is 
he left flank.” 
| “Yes, yes. But where is Prince Bolkonsky’s regiment ? 
Jan’t you show me ?” demanded Pierre. 

. “ Andrei Nikolayevitch’s ? We shall ride directly past it: 
will take you to him.” 

“What were you going to say about the left flank ?” asked 
jerre. 

“To tell you the truth, entre nous, our left flank is wretch- 
dly placed,” said Boris, ‘lowering his voice to’ a confidential 
one. ‘ Count Benigsen proposed something entirely different. 
de proposed to fortify that hill yonder ; not at all’ this way ; 
wut” —Boris shrugged his shoulders — “his serene highness 
vould not hear to it, or he was over-persuaded. You see’ 

But Boris did not ‘finish what he was going to say, Heenae 
ust at that instant Kaisarof, one of Kutuzof’s adjutants, 
“pproached Pierre. 
| PeAh ! Paisi Nergeyitch, ’” exclaimed Boris, with a free and 
“asy smile, turning to Kaisarof. ‘ Here I was just trying to 
xplain our position to the count. It is a marvel to me how 
tis serene highness could have succeeded so well in penetrat- 
ng the designs of the French!” 

“Were you speaking of the left flank ?” asked Kaisarof. 

“Yes, yes, just that. Our left flank is now very, very 
i trong.” 

Aithough Kutuzof had dismissed all superfluous mem- 
ers from his staff, Boris, after the changes that had been 






















214 WAR AND PEACE. 


made, had managed in keeping his place at headquarters. H 
had procured a place with Count Benigsen. Count Benigsen 
like all the other men under whom Boris had served, con 
sidered the young Prince Drubetskoi an invalfiable man. 

In the headquarters of the army, there were two sharpl 
defined parties: that of Kutuzof and that of Benigsen, chie! 
of staff. Boris belonged to the latter party; and no one wat 
more skilful than he, even while expressing servile deference: 
to Kutuzof, to insinuate that the old man was incapable, ané 
that really everything was due to Benigsen. 

They were now on the eve of a decisive engagement, whicl 
would be likely either to prove Kutuzof’s ruin, and put th 
power in Benigsen’s hands, or, even supposing Kutuzof wert 
to win the battle, to make it seem probable that all the credit 
was due to Benigsen. In any case, great rewards would bé 
distributed on account of the coming battle, and new me 
would be brought to the fore. And, in consequence of this, 
Boris all that day had been in a state of feverish excitement. 

Pierre was joined by other acquaintances, who came up 
after Kaisarof, and he had no time to answer all the inquiries 
about Moscow with which they inundated him; and he had no 
time to listen to the stories which they told him. Excitemen 
and anxiety were written in allfaces. But it seemed to Pierr 
that the cause of these emotions, in some cases at least, was 
to be attributed rather to the possibility of personal success; 
and he found it impossible to help comparing them with that 
other expression of emotion which he had seen on other faces, 
and which was eloquent of something besides merely personal 
matters, but of the eternal questions of life and of death. 

Kutuzof caught sight of Pierre’s figure, and the group that 
had gathered round him. 

“Bring him to me,” said Kutuzof. An adjutant communi- 
cated his serene highness’s message, and Pierre started to the 
place where he was sitting. But, before he got there, a private 
of militia approached Kutuzof. 

It was Dolokhof. 

“How comes this man here?” asked Pierre. 

“He’s such a beast! He’s sneaking in everywhere !” was 
the answer. “He has been cashiered again. But he’s on his 
way up again. He has all sorts of schemes, and one night he 
_ erept up as far as the enemy’s picket lines. He’s brave.” 

Pierre, taking off his hat, made a low bow to Kutuzof. 

“T had an idea that if I made this report to your serene 
highness, you might order me off, or tell me that what I had 


WAR AND PEACE. 915 

















!) say was already known to you, and then all would be up 
‘ith me,’ Dolokhof was saying. 
; “Very true, very true!” ; 

“But if I am correct, then I am doing a service for my 

(ountry, for which I am ready to die.” 

, “Very true, very true!” 

_« And if your serene highness needs a man who would not 
‘are if he came out with a whole skin or not, then please 
amember me. Maybe I might be of use to your serene 
ighness.” 

| “Very true, very true!” said Kutuzof, for the third time, 
looking at Pierre with his one eye squinted up, and smiling. 

i At this instant, Boris, with his usual adroitness, came up in 
‘ine with Pierre close to the chief, and, in the most natural man- 
‘ier in the world, said to Pierre, in his ordinary tone of voice, 
though he were pursuing what he had already begun to 
ay, — 

“©The landwehr have put on clean white shirts, just as 
hough they were preparing fordeath. What heroism, count !” 
Boris said this to Pierre evidently for the sake of being 
‘werheard by his serene highness. He knew that Kutuzof 
‘would be attracted by these words, and, in fact, his serene 
sughness turned to him : — 

“ What did you say about the landwehr?” he demanded 
“if Boris. 

«“T said, your serene highness, that they had put on white 
-hirts for to-morrow, as a preparation for death.” 

| “Ah! They are a marvellous, incomparable people !” 
xclaimed Kutuzof, and, closing his eyes, he shook his head. 
“An incomparable people,” he repeated, with a sigh. ‘So 
‘rou wish to smell gunpowder ?” he asked, turning to ‘Pierre. 
Well, it’s a pleasant odor. I have the honor of being one of 
rour wife’s adorers: is she well? My quarters are at your 
‘ervice.” 

And as often happens with old men, Kutuzof slanced about 
‘\bsent-mindedly, as though forgetting all that he ought to say 
xtodo. ‘Then apparently coming toa recollection of what his 
\memory was searching for, he beckoned. up Andrei Sergeye- 
tritch Kaisarof, his adjutant’s brother : — 

“ How — how —how do those verses — those — those verses 
of Marin’s — how, how do they go? Something he wrote on 
Herakof: ‘ Thou shalt be a teacher in the corpus.’ Repeat ’em, 
eepeat ’em !” exclaimed Kutuzof, evidently in a mood to have 
laugh. 













216 WAR AND PEACE. 


Kaisarof repeated the poem. Kutuzof, smiling, nodded his 
head to the rhythm of the verses. 

When Pierre left Kutuzof, Dolokhof approached and _ tool 
him by the arm : — | 

“Very glad to meet you here, count,” said he in a loud toné 
and with peculiar resolution and solemnity, not abashed by 
the presence of strangers. “On the eve of a day when God 
knows which of us may quit this life, Iam glad of the oppor! 
tunity to tell you that I am sorry for the misunderstandings 
which have existed between us, and that I hope you bear mé 
no grudge. i beg you to pardon me.” 

Pierre, smiling, gazed at Dolokhof, not knowing what answe 
to make. Dolokhof, with tears in his eyes, threw his arm¢ 
around Pierre and kissed him. 

Boris made some remark to his general, and Count Benigsen 
turned to Pierre and invited him to join him in a ride along 
the lines. 

“Tt will be interesting to you,” said he. 

“Yes, very interesting,” replied Pierre. | 

Half an hour later Kutuzof had gone back to Tatarinovo, 
and Benigsen with his suite, including Pierre, set off on their 
tour of inspection along the line. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


BentcseEn set forth from Gorki along the highway to the 
bridge to which Pierre’s attention had been called by the 
officer on the hill-top as being the centre of the position, and 
where, along the intervale, the windrows of hay lay filling the 
air with perfume. They crossed the bridge into the village 
of Borodino, whence they made a détour to the left, and, pass- 
ing a great quantity of troops and field-pieces, they made 
their way to a high mound where the landwehr were con- 
structing earthworks. This was the redoubt which as yet 
was not named, but was afterwards known as Rayevsky’s re- 
doubt or the Kurgannaya* battery. Pierre did not pay any 
special attention to this redoubt. He could not know that 
this spot would come to be for him the most memorable of all 
the positions on the field of Borodino. 

Then they rode down through the ravine to Semenovskoye, 
where the soldiers were dragging off the last remaining beams 
from the cottages and corn kilns. Then down a hill and upa 


* From kurgdn, a mound or hill (mamelon). 


WAR AND PEACE. 21e 





















‘ll they rode, forward across a field of rye crushed down and 
aten as if by a hail storm, and over a road newly formed by 
te artillery through a ploughed field until they reached the 
aches * which had just been started. 
- Benigsen drew up at the fleches and proceeded to scrutinize 
ae Shevardino redoubt, — which had been ours the evening 
iafore, — where a number of horsemen could be distinguished. 
. The officers said that Napoleon or Murat was amoug them, 
‘ad all gazed eagerly at the little knot of horsemen. Pierre 
SO looked in the same direction, trying to make out which of 
nese scarcely distinguishable men was ‘Napoleon. At last the 
‘orsemen descended from the hill and disappeared. 
| Benigsen addressed a general who had approached him, and 
toceeded to explain the whole position of our troops. Pierre 
‘stened to Benigsen’s words, exerting all the powers of his 
iid to comprehend the nature of the approaching engage- 
jent, but he was mortified to discover that his intellectual 
|wpacities were not up to the mark. He got no idea whatever. 
jenigsen ceased speaking, and, noticing that Pierre was listen- © 
jig attentively, he said, st uddenly turning to him, — 
1 am afraid this does not interest you ?” 
“Oh, on the contrary, it is very interesting,” replied Pierre, 
|0t with absolute veracity. | 
| From the fleche they took the road still farther toward the 
(ft, which wound through a dense but not lofty forest of 
‘ireh-trees. In the midst of these woods a cinnamon-colored 
‘are with white legs bounded up before them, and, startled 
)y the trampling of so many horses’ feet, was so bewildered 
jaat for some time it ran along the road in front of them, ex- 
) ting general attention and amusement, and only when several 
b€ the men shouted at it, did it dart to one side and disap- 
(ear in the thicket. 
) Having ridden a couple of versts through the wood, they 
sme to the clearing where the troops of Tutchkof’s corps 
kere stationed, whose duty it was to defend the left flank. 
; Here, at the very extremity of the left flank, Benigsen had 
j wordy and heated conversation and made what seemed to 
}lerre a very important disposition. In front of Tutchkof’s 
|lvision there was a slight rise of ground. This rise had not 
'2en occupied by our troops. 
b Benigsen vigorously criticised this blunder, declaring that it 
| as a piece of idiocy te leave unoccupied a height command- 
ig a locality, and to draw up the troops at the foot of it. 
* A kind of fortification, - AUTHOR’s NOTE, 


* 


218 WAR AND PEACE. 


Several of the generals expressed the same opinion. One ix 
particular, with genuine military fervor, declared that th: 
men were left there to certain destruction. Benigsen, on hi; 
own responsibility, commanded the troops to occupy thi: 
height. 

This disposition on the left flank still further compelled 
Pierre to doubt his capacity to understand military man: 
ceuvres. As he listened to Benigsen and the generals wha 
were criticising the position of the troops at the foot of the 
knoll, he perfectly understood them and agreed in their strie: 
tures; but for this very reason he found himself utterly unable 
to comprehend how the one who had placed the men there at 
the foot of the knoll could have made such a palpable and 
stupid blunder. 

Pierre did not know that these troops had been stationed 
there not to guard the position, as Benigsen supposed, but 
were set in ambuscade : in other words, in order to be hidden 
and to fall unexpectedly on the enemy as they approached, 
Benigsen did not know this, and he moved these troops for! 
ward by his own understanding of the case, and without first 
informing the commander-in-chief. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


PrincE ANDREI, that bright September afternoon of the 
sixth, was stretched out with his head leaning on his hand, in 
a dilapidated cow-shed, at the village of Kniazkovo, at the end 
of the position occupied by his regiment. Through a hole in 
the broken wall he was gazing at a row of thirty-year -old birches 
that ran along the edge of the enclosure, with their lower limbs 
trimmed off, and at a “ploughed field over which were scattered 
sheaves of oats, and at the coppice where the smoke of bivouae¢ 
fires was rising, where the soldiers were cooking their suppers. 

Narrow and useless and trying as Prince Andrei’s life now 
seemed to him, he felt excited and irritable on the eve of the 
battle, just as he had seven years before at Austerlitz. | 

The orders for the morrow’s battle were given and received 
by him. ‘There was nothing further left for him to do. But 
his thoughts, the simplest, clearest, and therefore most ter- 
rible thoughts, refused to leave him to repose. He was aware 
that the morrow’s engagement would be the most formidable 
of all in which he had ever taken part, and the possibility of 
death, for the first time in his life without reference to » 


’ 


WAR AND PEACE. 949 


pridly aspect, without consideration as to the effect it might 
oduce upon others, but in its relation to himself, to his own 
ul, confronted him with vividness, almost with certainty, in 
Lits grim reality. 

And from the height of this consideration, all that hitherto 
rmented and pre-occupied him was suddenly thrown into a 
jd white light, without shadow, without perspective, with- 
‘t distinction of features. . 

All his life appeared to him as though in a magic lantern, 
to which he had long been looking through a glass and by 
eans of an artificial light. 

‘Now he could suddenly see without a glass, by the clear 
ght of day, these wretchedly painted pictures. 

“Yes, yes, here are those false images which have excited 
id enraptured and deceived me,” said he to himself, as he 
issed in review, in his imagination, the principal pictures of 
§ magic-lantern life, now looking at them in this cold white 
tht of day — the vivid thought of death. 

“Here they are, these coarsely painted figures which pre- 
nmded to represent something beautiful and mysterious. 
lory, social advantages, woman’s love, the country itself — 
tw tremendous seemed to me these pictures, what deep sig- 
ficance they seemed to possess. And all that seems now so 
mple, so cheap and tawdry in the cold white light of that 
orning which, I am convinced, will dawn for me to-morrow.” 
‘The three chief sorrows of his life especially arrested his 
tention. His love for a woman, the death of his father, and 
é@ French invasion which was ingulfing half of Russia. 
“Love!—That young girl seemed to me endowed with 
ysterious powers. How was it? I loved her, I dreamed 
‘etic dreams of love and happiness with her. — Oh, precious 
‘y!” he cried aloud savagely. “How was it? I had faith 
an ideal love which should keep her faithful to me during 
‘e whole year of my absence. Like the tender dove of the 
ble, she should have pined away while separated from me. — 
it the reality was vastly more simple. — It was all horribly 
mple, disgusting ! 

“My father was building at Luisiya Gorui and supposing 
at it was his place, his land, his air, his peasants; but 
poleon came, and, not even knowing of his existence, swept 
m aside like a chip from the road, and his Luisiya Gorui was 
‘allowed up and his life with it. But the Princess Mariya 
ys that this is a discipline sent from above. For whom is 
a discipline, since he is no more and will never be again ? 





990 WAR AND PEACE. 











He will never be seen again. He is nomore. Then to whor 
is it a discipline ? 

“The fatherland, the destruction of Moscow! But to-mo: 
row I shall be killed —perhaps not even by the French, 
by one of our own men, just’ as I might have been yesterdai 
when the soldier discharged his musket near my head — an 
the French will come, will take me by the legs and shoulder 
and fling me into a pit, so that I may not become a stench i 
their nostrils, and new conditions of existence will spring ut 
to which other men will grow just as accustomed, and I sha 
not know about them, for I shall be no more!” 

He gazed at the row of birches shining in the sun, wit) 
their motionless yellow, green, and white boles. | 

“JT must die; suppose I am killed to-morrow, suppose i 
is the end of me,—the end of all, and I no longer exist 
ent!” He vividly pictured the world and himself not in it 
The birches, with the lights and shades, and the curlinj 
clouds, and the smoke of the bivouac fires, —all suddeni} 
underwent a change, and assumed for him something terribli 
and threatening. A cold chillran down his back. Quickly leay 
ing to his feet, he left the shed, and began to walk up and down 

Voices were heard behind the shed. 

“Who is there?” asked Prince Andrei. The red-noset 
Captain Timokhin, who had formerly been Dolokhof’s com 
pany commander, and now, owing to the lack of officers, hac 
been promoted to battalion commander, came shyly to thé 
shed. Behind him came an adjutant and the paymaster o 
the regiment. 

Prince Andrei got up, listened to what the officers had te 
report to him, gave them a few extra directions, and was just 
about to dismiss them when he heard from behind the sheé 
a familiar, lisping voice. 

“@ue diable/” exclaimed the voice of this man, whe 
tripped up over something. 

Prince Andrei, peering out of the shed, saw advancing 
toward him his friend Pierre, who had just sueceeded if 
stumbling and almost falling flat over a pole that was lying 
on the ground. Asa general thing, it was disagreeable for 
Prince Andrei to see men from his own rank in life, and espe 
cially so in the case of Pierre, who brought back to his re 
membrance all the trying moments which he had experienced 
during his last visit at Moscow. E 

“Ah! how is this?” he exclaimed. “ What chance bring: 
vou here? I was not expecting you.” 





























WAR AND PEACE. 994 


' While he was saying these words his eyes and his whole 
ace expressed something more than mere coolness — it was 
Mather an unfriendliness, which Pierre did not fail to remark. 
‘de had approached the shed in the most animated frame of 
inind, but when he saw Prince Andrei’s face he felt suddenly 
“mbarrassed and awkward. 

“ T came — well — you know — I came — it was interesting 
‘0 me,” stammered Pierre, who had already used that word 
interesting” no one knows how many times during the 
sourse of that day. “I wanted to see a battle.” 

«So, so, but what do your brotherhood of Masons say about 
war ? How prevent it?” asked Prince Andrei ironically. 
“Well, how is Moscow? How are my folks? Have they 
rot to Moscow at last?” he asked more seriously. 

“Yes, they got there. Julie Drubetskaya told me. I went 
‘o call upon them, and failed to find them. They had gone to 
‘rour pod-Moskovnaya.” 





CHAPTER XXV. 


| THE officers were going to take their leave, but Prince 
‘Andrei, as though not desiring to be left alone with his friend, 
‘nvited them to sit down and take tea. Stools and tea were 
‘rought. The officers, not without amazement, gazed at 
Pierre’s enormously stout figure, and listened to his stories 
% Moscow, and the position of our troops which he had 
‘shanced to visit. 
Prince Andrei said nothing, and the expression of his face 
‘vas so disagreeable that Pierre addressed himself more to the 
zood-natured battalion commander, Timokhin, than to Bol- 
‘consky. 
“So you understood the disposition of our forces, did 
‘you ?” suddenly interrupted Prince Andrei. 
fie’ Yes —that is, to a certain extent,” said Pierre; “so far 
ys a civilian can. J don’t mean absolutely, but still, I under- 
stood the general arrangements.” 

“Then you are ahead of any one else!” said Prinée 
Andrei.* 
| “Ha?” exclaimed Pierre, looking in perplexity over his 
izlasses at Prince Andrei. “ Well, what do you think about 
she appointment of Kutuzof ?” he asked. 


* Kh bien, vous étes plus avancé que qui cela soit. 


PA: WAR AND PEACE. 


“YT was very much pleased with it; that is all I can say 
about it,” rephed Prince Andrei. 


‘“‘ Now, then, please tell me your opinion in regard to Bar. | 


clay de Tolly. They are saying all sorts of things about him 
in Moscow. What is your judgment about him ? ” 

“Ask these gentlemen,” suggested Prince Andrei, indi- 
cating the officers. | 

Pierre looked at Timokhin with that indulgently question- 
ing smile with which all treated him in spite of themselves. 

“Tt brought light * to us, your illustriousness, as soon as 
his serene highness took charge,” said Timokhin, who kept 
glancing timidly at his regimental commander. 

“How so?” asked Pierre. 


“Well, now, take for instance, firewood or fodder: I will ex- _ 


plain it to you. We retreated from Swienciany, and did not 
dare to touch a dry branch or a bit o’ hay or anything. You 
see, we marched off and left it for him: wasn’t that so, your 
illustriousness ?” he asked, addressing “his prince.” “It 
was, ‘Don’t you dare.’ In our regiment, two officers were 
court-martialled for doing such things. Well, then, when his 
serene highness came in, it became perfectly simple as far as 
such things were concerned. We saw light.” 

“Then, why did he forbid it ? ” 

Timokhin glanced around in some confusion, not knowing 
what to say in reply to this question. Pierre turned to Prince 
Andrei, and asked the same thing. 

“In order not to spoil the country which we were leaving 
to the enemy,” replied Prince Andrei, with savage sarcasm. 
“Tt is very judicious never to allow the country to be pil- 
laged, and soldiers taught to be marauders. Well, then, at 


Smolensk, he also very correctly surmised that the French 


might outflank us since they outnumbered us. But he could 
not understand this,” screamed Prince Andrei, in a high key, 
as though he had lost control of his voice. 

“He could not understand that we were for the first time 
fighting in defence of Russian soil, that the troops were ani- 
mated by a spirit such as I, for one, had never seen before ; 
that we had beaten the French two days running, and that 
this victory had multiplied our strength tenfold. He gave 
the orders to retreat, and all our efforts and losses were ren- 
dered useless. He never dreamed of playing the traitor; he 
tried to do everything in the best possible manner; his fore- 
sight was all-embracing, but for that very reason he is good 


* Svyet, light; a play on the first syllable of svyétieishii (most serene). 








WAR AND PEACE. 223 


for nothing. He is good for nothing now, for the very reason 
that he lays out all his plans beforehand very judiciously and 
punctiliously, as it is natural for every German to do. How 
‘gan I make it clear ?— See here! Your father has a German 
lackey, and he is an excellent lackey, and he serves him in all 
respects better than you could do, and so you let him do his 
work; but if your father is sick unto death, you send the 
lackey off, and with your own unaccustomed, unskilful hands, 
‘you look after your father, and you are more of a comfort to 
‘him than the skilful hand of a foreigner would be. And that 
is the case with Barclay. As long as Russia was well, a 
‘stranger could serve her, and was an excellent servant; but 


jas soon as she was in danger, she needs a man of her own 
‘blood. Well, you have accused him at the club of being a 
‘traitor. The only effect of traducing him as a traitor will be 
that afterwards, becoming ashamed of such a false accusation, 
‘the same men will suddenly make a hero or a genius of him, 
which would be still more unjust. He is an honorable and 
very punctilious German ” — 

| “ At all events, they say he is a skilful commander,” inter- 
posed Pierre. 

“JT don’t know what you mean by a skilful commander,” 
said Prince Andrei, with a sneer. 
_ “A skilful commander,” explained Pierre, “ well, is one who 
‘foresees all contingencies, reads his enemy’s intentions.” 

“Well, that is impossible,” said Prince Andrei, as though 
the matter had been long ago settled. 

Pierre looked at him in amazement. 

“Certainly,” said he, “it has been said that war is like a 
game of chess.” 

-“ Ves,” replied Prince Andrei, “only with this slight differ- 
ence: that in chess you can think over each move as long as 
you wish, that you are in that case freed from conditions of 
time; and with this difference also, that the knight is always 
stronger than the pawn, and two pawns are always stronger 
‘than one, while in war a single battalion is sometimes stronger 
‘than a division, and sometimes weaker than a company. The 
‘relative strength of opposing armies can never be predicted. 
‘Believe me,” said he, “if it depended on the dispositions made 
by the staff officers, then I should have remained on the staff 
‘and made my dispositions, while as it is, instead, I have the 
‘honor of serving here in the regiment with these gentlemen, and 
‘I take it that, in reality, the affair of to-morrow will depenc 
upon us, and not upon them. Success never has depended, 








294. WAR AND PEACE. 





















and never will depend, either on position or on armament o 
on numbers, but least of all on position.” 

“What does it depend on, then ? ” 

“On the feeling that is in me and.in him,” — he indicatec 
Timokhin, — “and in every soldier.” 

Prince Andrei glanced at Timokhin, who was staring at 
his commander, startled and perplexed. Contrary to his ordi 
nary silent self-restraint, Prince Andrei seemed now excited, 
He apparently could not refrain from expressing the thoughts 
which had unexpectedly occurred to him. 

“The battle will be gained by the one who is resolutely ben 
on gaining it. Why did we lose the battle of Austerlitz? Our 
loss was not much greater than that of the French, but we 
said to ourselves very early in the engagement that we should 
lose it, and we did lose it. And we said this because there was 
no reason for being in a battle there, and we were anxious to 
get away from the battle-field as soon as possible. ‘We have 
lost, so let us run,’ and we did run. If we had not said this 
till evening, God knows what would have happened. But to- 
morrow we shall not say that. You have just said our posi- 
tion, the left flank, is weak, the right flank too much extended,” 
he pursued, “but that is all nonsense. It is not so at all. For 
what is before us to-morrow ? A hundred millions of the most 
various possibilities, which will be decided instantaneously. 
They, or our men, will start to run; this one or that one will 
be killed. All that is being done now, though, is mere child’s- 
play. The fact is, those with whom you rode round inspectin 
the position, instead of promoting the general course of events, 
rather hinder it. They are occupied with their own petty 
interests, and nothing else.” 

“ At such a moment ?” asked Pierre reproachfully. 

“Yes, even at such a moment,” repeated Prince Andrei. “Fo 
them this is only a propitious time to oust a rival or win an 
extra cross or ribbon. I will tell you what I think to-morrow 
means. A hundred thousand Russian and a hundred thousand 
French soldiers meet in battle to-morrow, and the result will be 
that of these two hundred thousand soldiers, the side will win 
that fights most desperately and is least sparing of itself. And, 
if you will, I will tell you this: whatever happens, whatever 
disagreements there may be in the upper circles, we shall win 
the battle to-morrow. To-morrow, whatever happens, we shall 
win.” 

“ You are right there, your illustriousness, perfectly right,” 
echoed Timokhin, “Why should we spare ourselves now? 


WAR AND PEACE. ‘ 995 







‘he men in my battalion — would you believe it ?— would 
‘ot drink their vodka. ‘It is not the time for it,’ said they.” 
| All were silent. The officers got up. Prince "Andrei went 
ith them behind the shed, giving his final directions to his 
dj utant. 

I When the officers had gone, Pierre went to Prince Andrei, 

ind was just about to renew his conversation with him, when 
\long the road that ran not far from the shed they heard the 
rampling hoofs of three horses, and, looking in that direction, 

’rince Andrei recognized Woltzogen and Klauzewitz, accom- 
vanied by a Cossack. They rode “rapidly by, talking as they 
yent, and Pierre and Andrei heard involuntarily the following 
‘natches of their conversation : — 

“The war must spread into the country. I cannot sufficiently 
dyocate this plan,” said one. 

| “Oh, yes,” replied the other, “our only object is to weaken 
\he enemy, so of course we cannot consider the loss of single 
Vadividuals.” * 

| O ja!” echoed the first again. 

| “Yes, ‘spread into the country,’” repeated Prince Andrei, 
ith an angry snort, after they had ridden past. ‘“ ‘The coun- 
iry!’ And there my father and son and my sister have had to 
ear the brunt of it at Luisiya Gorni. It is all the same to 
im. Now, that illustrates the very thing I was telling you. 
‘these German gentlemen will not win the battle to-morrow, 
rut will only muddle matters so far as they can, for in their 
;yerman heads there are only arguments which aren’t worth a 
ow of pins, while in their hearts they have nothing of what 1s 
,lone useful at such a time—not one atom of what is in 
(imokhin. They have abandoned all Europe to him, and now 
hey come here to teach us. Splendid teachers!” and again 
|us voice became high and sharp. 

So you think that we shall win a victory to-morrow ? ” 
| sked Pierre. 

| “Certainly I do,” replied Prince Andrei, absently. ‘“ One 
| hing I should have done if I could,” he began, after a short 
yause: “I would have allowed no prisoners to be taken. 
\Nhat does the taking of prisoners mean? It is chivalry. 

\Che French have destroyed my home, and they are coming to 
\lestroy Moscow; they have insulted me, and they go on in- 
}ulting me every second. They are my enemies, they are in 





* “ Der Krieg mussim Raum verlegt werden. Der Ansicht kann ich genug 
}?reis geben.” — ‘‘ O ja, der Zweck ist nur den Feind zu schwachen, so kann 
jnann gewiss nicht den Verlust der privat-Personen in Achtung nehmen.’ 


VOL. 3. — 15. 


99°6 i WAR AND PEACE. 
my opinion criminals. And that expresses the feeling of 
Timokhin and the whole army. They must be punished. If 
they are my enemies, they cannot be my friends, in spite of 
all they might say at Tilsit.” 
“Yes, you are right,” assented Pierre, with gleaming eyes 
glancing at Prince Andrei. “TI entirely agree with you. ” 
The question which had been troubling Pierre ever since 


his delay on the hillside of Mozhaisk, and all that long day, 


now became to him perfectly clear and settled beyond a per- 
adventure. He now comprehended all the meaning and sig- 
nificance of this war and of the impending battle. All that he 
had seen that day, all the stern faces full of thoughtfulness, 
of which he had caught a cursory glimpse, now were illumi- 


nated with anew light forhim. He comprehended that latent 
heat of patriotism —to use a term of physics — which was 


hidden in all these men he had seen, and this explained to him 
why it was all these men were so calm, and, as it were, heed- 
jess, in their readiness for death. 

“Let no prisoners be taken,” pursued Prince Andrei. 
“That alone would change all war, and would really make it 
less cruel. But, as it is, we play at making war. That’s the 
wretchedness of it; we are magnanimous and all that sort of 
thing. This magnanimity and sensibility — it is like the mag- 
nanimity and sensibility of a high-born lady, who is offended 
if by chance she sees a calf killed; she is so good that she 
cannot see the blood, but she eats the same calf with good 


appetite when it is served with sauce. They prate to us 


about the laws of warfare, chivalry, flags of truce, humanity 
to the wounded and the like. It’s all nonsense. I saw what 
chivalry, what our ‘parliamentarianism’ was in 1805; they 
hocus-pocused us, we hocus-pocused them. Homes are pil- 
laged, counterfeit assignats are issued, and, worse than all, 
they kill our children and our fathers, and then talk about 
the laws of warfare and generosity to our enemies. Give no 
quarter, but kill and be killed! Whoever has reached this 
conclusion, as I have, by suffering ” — 

Prince Andrei, who had believed that it was a matter of in- 
difference to him whether Moscow were taken or not taken, — 
just as Smolensk had been—suddenly stopped short in the 
middle of his argument owing to an unexpected cramp that 
took him in the throat. He walked up and down a few times 
in silence; but his eyes gleamed fiercely, and his lip trembled, 
when he again resumed the thread of his discourse. 


“If there were none of this magnanimity in warfare, then 


t 





) WAR AND PEACE. 227 
‘we should only undertake it when, as now, it was a matter for 
‘which it was worth while to meet one’s death. Then there 
‘would not be war because Pavel Ivanuitch had insulted 
‘Mikhail Ivanuitch. But if there must be war like the pres- 
‘ent one, let it be war. Then the zeal and intensity of the 
‘troop would always be like what it is now. Then all these 
,Westphalians and Hessians, whom Napoleon has brought with 
‘him, would not have come against us to Russia, and we should 
never have gone to fight in Austria and Prussia without knowing 
why. War is not amiability, but it is the most hateful thing 
‘in the world, and it is necessary to understand it so and not 
to play at war. It is necessary to take this frightful necessity 
) sternly and seriously. This is the pith of the matter; avoid 
‘falsehood, let war be war and not sport. For otherwise war 
becomes a favorite pastime for idle and frivolous men. The 
military are the most honorable of any class. 

“ But what is war, and what is necessary for its success, and 
‘what are the laws of military society ? The end and aim of 
‘war is murder; the weapons of war are espionage, and treach- 
lery and the encouragement of treachery, the ruin of the in- 
‘habitants, and pillage and robbery of their possessions for the 
maintenance of the troops, deception and lies which pass 
‘under the name of finesse; the privileges of the military 
elass, the lack of freedom, that is discipline, enforced inactiv- 
“ity, ignorance, rudeness, debauchery, drunkenness. And yet, 
this is the highest caste in society, respected by all. All rulers, 
except the Emperor of China, wear military uniforms, and 
the one who has killed the greatest number of men gets the 
' greatest reward. 

“Tens of thousands of men meet, just as they will to-mor- 
row, to murder one another, they will massacre and maim; 
and afterwards thanksgiving Te Deums will be celebrated, 
because many men have been killed —the number is always 
exaggerated — and victory will be proclaimed on the supposi- 
tion that the more men killed, the greater the credit. Think 
of God looking down and listening to them!” exclaimed 
- Prince Andrei, in his sharp, piping voice. “Ah! my dear fel- 
| low,* of late life has been a hard burden. I see I have obtained 
too deep an insight into things. It is not for a man to taste 
of the knowledge of good and of evil — well, it is not for 
' long, now,” he added. “However, it is your bedtime; and it 
_is time for me to turn in too.—Go back to Gorki!” sud- 

denly exclaimed Prince Andrei. | 

* Akh, dusha moya. 













228 WAR AND PEACE. 


4 


“Oh, no,” cried Pierre, looking at Prince Andrei with 
frightened, sympathetic eyes. 

“Go, go; before an engagement one must get some sleep,’ 
insisted Prince Andrei. He came swiftly up to Pierre, threw 
his arms around him and kissed him. “ Good-by, — prash- 
chai; go now,” he cried. “ We may meet again — no” — and, 
hurriedly turning his back on his friend, he went into the 
shed. 

It was already dark, and Pierre could not make out the 
expression of Prince Andrei’s face, whether it was angry or 
tender. 

Pierre stood for some time in silence, deliberating whether 
to follow him or to go to his lodgings. 

‘‘No, he does not want me,” Pierre decided, “and I know 
that this is our last meeting.” He drew a deep sigh and went, 
back to Gorki. 

Prince Andrei retiring into his shed, threw himself down on 
a rug, but he could not sleep. 

He closed his eyes. One picture after another rose before 
him. One in particular held him long in rapt, joyous atten- 
tion. He had a vivid remembrance of an evening at Peters- 
burg. Natasha, with her eager, vivacious face, was telling him 
how, the summer before, while she was out after mushrooms, 
she had lost her way in the great forest. She gave him a dis- 
connected description of the darkness of the woods, and her 
sensations, and her conversation with a bee-hunter whom she 
_had met; and every little while she had interrupted her story 
and said: “ No, I can’t tell you, you won’t understand,” al- 
though Prince Andrei had tried to calm her by assuring her 
that he understood ; and in reality he had understood all that 
she meant to convey. 

Natasha had been dissatisfied with her own words; she 
felt that she could not express the passionately poetical, sen- 
sation which she had felt that day, and which she desired to 
express in words. 

“The old man was so charming, and it was so dark in the 
forest, —and he had such good —but oh, dear, I can’t tell 
you,” she had said, blushing ‘and becoming agitated, 

Prince Andrei smiled even now the same joyous smile which. 
he had smiled then as he looked into her eyes. 

“T understood her,” said he to himself; “not only did J 
understand her, but I loved that moral pow er of hers, that. 
frankness, that perfect honesty of soul, — yes, her soul itself. 
which seemed to dominate her body, — her soul itself I loved 





WAR AND PEACE. 229 


‘so powerfully, so happily I loved.” — And suddenly he re- 
}alled what it was that had put an end to his love. 

. “ He needed nothing of the sort. He saw nothing, under- 
tood nothing of all this. All he saw was a very pretty and 
(resh young girl, with whom he did not even deign to join his 
late. But 1? — And he is still alive and enjoying life!” 

4 Prince Andrei, as though something had scalded him, sprang 
p and once more began to pace up and down in front of the 
vhed. 












CHAPTER XXVI. 


| On the sixth of September, the day before the battle of 
HErodino, M. de Beausset, Grand Chamberlain to the Em- 
Hieror of the French, and ‘Colonel Fabvier arrived, the first 
‘rom Paris, the other from Madrid, to the Emperor Napoleon 
‘t his camp at Valuyevo. 

'M. de Beausset sent on ahead a packet which he had 
‘nought to the emperor, and, after he had changed his travel- 
‘ing dress for a court uniform, he entered the outer division 
F£ Napoleon’s tent, where, while talking with Napoleon’s 
\ides-de-camp who crowded round him, he busied himself with 
/mdoing the wrapper of the case. 

) Fabvier, not entering the tent, paused at the entrance, and 
‘mtered into conversation with generals of his acquaintance. 

) The Emperor Napoleon had not yet quitted his bedroom, 
|rhere he was engaged in making his toilet. Sniffing and 
/runting, he was turning first his stout, back, then his fat 
thest to the valet who was plying the brush. A second valet, 
/olding his fingers over the bottle, was sprinkling the em- 
} eror’s neatly arrayed person with eau de cologne, his expres- 
lon intimating that he was the only one who knew how much 
Hologne to use, and where it should be applied. Napoleon’s 
hort-cropped hair was wet and pasted down upon his fore- 
ead. But his face, though puffy and sallow, expressed 
physical satisfaction. “ Allez ferme — allez toujours — steady 
'p— put more energy in,” — he was saying as he shrugged his 
houlders and grunted while the valet brushed him. 

One of his aides-de-camp who had been admitted into 
‘is sleeping-room to submit a report to the emperor as to 
he number of prisoners taken during the engagement of the 
receding day, having accomplished ‘his errand, was standing 
y the door, awaiting permission to retire. Napoleon scowled 
ud glared at the aide from under his brows. 





230 WAR AND PEACE. 











“No prisoners,” said he, repeating the aide-de-camp’s word; 
“They compel us to annihilate them. So much the worse f¢ 
the Russian army.— Go on, more energy!” he exclaime; 
hunching up his back, and offering his squabbish shoulders, 
“'That’ll do. Show in M. de Beausset and Fabvier as well. 

“ Yes, sire,” and the aide-de-camp disappeared through tl 
door of the tent. 

The two valets de chambre quickly dressed his majest: 
and he, in the blue uniform of the Guards, with firm, swil 
steps, entered the anteroom. Beausset was at that instar 
engaged in placing the gift which he had brought from th 
empress on two chairs directly in front of the entrance. Bu 
the emperor had dressed and come out with such unexpecte 
promptness that he had not time to get the surprise arrange 
to his satisfaction. 

Napoleon instantly remarked what he was doing, and coi 
jectured that they were not quite ready for him. He did nc 
want to spoil their pleasure in surprising him. He pretende 
not to see M. Beausset, and addressed himself to Fabvier. 

Napoleon, with a deep frown, and without speaking, listene 
to what Fabvier said about the bravery and devotion of hi 
troops who had been fighting at Salamanca, at the other en 
of Europe, and who had only one thought —to be worthy ¢ 
their emperor; and one fear — that of not satisfying him. 

The result of the engagement was disastrous. Napoleot 
during Fabvier’s report, made ironical observations, giving 
understand that the affair could not have resulted differently 
he being absent. . 

“T must regulate this in Moscow,” said Napoleon. “. 
tantot — Good-by for now,” he added, and approached J) 
Beausset, who by this time had succeeded in getting his su 
prise ready — some object covered with a cloth having bad 
placed on the chairs. 

De Beausset bowed low with that courtly French bow whic 
only the old servants of the Bourbons could even pretend f 
put into practice, and, advancing, he handed Napoleon th 
envelope. : 

Napoleon approached him and playfully took him by t 
ear. 

“You have made good time; I am very glad. Well, wh 
have they to say in Paris ?” he asked, suddenly changing hi 
former stern expression into one of the most genial characte: 















“ Point de prisonniers. Tant pis pour V’armée russe. Allez toujours - 
allez ferme. C'est bien! Faites entrer M. de Beausset, ainsi que Fabvier. | 


WAR AND PEACE. 931 






“Sire, tout Paris regrette votre absence,” replied De Beausset, 
in duty bound. 
' But though Napoleon knew that De Beausset was bound to say 
“us, or something to the same effect, though in his lucid inter. 
uls he knew that this was not true, it was agreeable to him 
‘hear this from De Beausset. He again did him the honor 
‘taking his ear. 
‘“T am sorry to have given you such along journey,” said he. 
| “Sire, I expected nothing less than to find you at Moscow,”* 
id Beausset. 
Napoleon smiled, and, raising his head, heedlessly he glanced 
the right. 
, An aide-de-camp with a gliding gait approached with a gold 
‘aff-box, and presented it. Napoleon took it. 
“Yes, it has turned out luckily for you,” he said, putting 
€ open snufi-box to his nose. “You enjoy travelling; in 
‘Fee days you will see Moscow. You really could not have 
‘pected to see the Asiatic capital. You will have had a 
easant journey.” : 
_Beausset made a low bow to express his eratitude for this 
scovery of. this proclivity for travelling, till now unknown 
him. 
“Ah, what is that ?” exclaimed Napoleon, noticing that all 
ecourtiers were glancing at the something hidden by a covering. 
Beausset, with courtier-like dexterity, not turning his back 
i his sovereign, took a couple of steps around and at the same 
ne snatched off the covering, saying, — 
“A gift to your majesty, from the empress.” 
/ This was Gérard’s brilliantly painted portrait of the little 
d born to Napoleon and the Austrian emperor’s daughter — 
e child whom all, for some occult reason, called the King of 
ome. 
_The perfectly rosy, curly-haired boy, with a face like the 
‘ce of the child in the Sixtine Madonna, was represented 
aying bilboquet. The ball represented the earth, and the 
)p in his other hand represented a sceptre. Although it was 
it perfectly clear why the artist wished to represent the so- 
led King of Rome transfixing the earth-ball with a stick, 
il this allegory seemed perfectly clear to all who saw the 
‘¢ture in Paris, as well as to Napoleon, and greatly delighted 
/em. 
i“foi de Rome!” he exclaimed, with a graceful gesture 










ri“ Je suis faché de vous avoir fait faire tant de chemin.” —“ Sire, je ne 
aitendais pas a4 moins qu’ a vous trouver aux portes de Moscou.”’ 


TB? WAR AND PEACE. 


= 


pointing to the portrait. “Admirable.” With that facility, 
characteristic of Italians, of changing at will the expression of 
his countenance, he approached the portrait and assumed a 
look of thoughtful tenderness. 

He was conscious that what he was saying and doing at 
that moment was history. And it seemed to him that the 
best thing he could do now was to display the simplest pater- 
nal affection, as being most of a contrast to that majesty the 
consequence of which was that his son played bilboquet witli 
the earth for the ball. 

His eyes grew dim; he drew near it, he looked round for a 
chair —the chair sprang forward and placed itself under him — 
and he sat down in front of the portrait. He waved his hand, 
and all retired on their tiptoes, leaving the great man to him- 
self and his feelings. 

After sitting there for some time and letting his attention, 
he knew not why, be attracted by the roughness with whicli 
the picture was painted, he got up and again beckoned to, 
Beausset and the aide on duty. 

He gave orders to have the portrait carried out in front of 
his tent, so that his old guard, who were stationed around his 
tent, might not be deprived of the bliss of seeing the King of 
Rome, the son and heir of their beloved monarch. As he 
anticipated, while he was eating breakfast with Beausset, 
whom he vouchsafed this honor, he heard the enthusiastic 
shouts of the officers and soldiers of the old guards, who came 
to view the portrait. 3 

“ Vive VHmpereur! Vive le Roi de Rome! Vive UV Em- 
pereur,’ shouted the enthusiastic voices. 

After breakfast, Napoleon, in Beausset’s presence, dictater 
his address to the army. . 

“ Courte et énergique / —short and to the point!” exclaimed 
Napoleon, as he read it aloud, the proclamation which had 
been written down word for word without a change. ‘The 
proclamation said, — 

“Soldiers! the battle which you have so eagerly desired 1s 
at hand. Victory depends on you, but victory is indispensable 
for us; it will give you all that you need, comfortable quarters, 
and a speedy return to your native land. Behave as you bes 
haved at Austerlitz, Friedland, Vitebsk, and Smolensk. Let 
your remotest posterity recall with pride your exploits on this 
day. And it will be said of each one of you, ‘He was present 
at the great battle at Moscow.’ ” 

“ De la Moskowa,” repeated Napoleon, and, taking M. de 


fh 
i WAR AND PEACE. CoS 


(i 
‘Beausset with him, who was so fond of travelling, he left the 
‘tent and mounted his horse, that was waiting already saddled. 
 « Votre majesté a trop de bonté / — Your majesty is too kind,” 
said Beausset, in reply to the émperor’s invitation to accompany 
‘him on his ride; he would have preferred to go to sleep, and 
‘he did not like, nay, he even feared, to ride on horseback. 

' But Napoleon nodded his head to the traveller, and Beausset 
‘had to go. 

‘When Napoleon left the tent, the acclamations of his guards 


im front of the portrait were more eager than ever. Napoleon 





frowned. 

lim“ Take it away,” said he, pointing to the portrait with a 
jeraceful and imperious gesture. ‘He is too young yet to see 
‘a battle.” 

| Beausset, closing his eyes and bending his head, drew a 
‘deep sigh, signifying thereby how he could appreciate and 
prize his emperor’s words. - 


CHAPTER XXVII. 
| 

NAPpoLeon, according to his historians, passed the entire 
‘day of September 6 on horseback, inspecting the battle-field, 
examining the plans suggested by his marshals, and person- 
ally giving orders to his generals. 
The original position of the Russian army along the Kalotcha 
had been broken, and the capture of the Shevardino redoubt 
on the fifth had forced a portion of this line, particularly the 
left flank, to retreat. This part of the line had not been for- 
‘tified, hor was it protected any longer by the river, and before 
‘it extended a more open and level ground. 
__It was evident to any one, whether soldier or civilian, that 
this part of the line was where the French must make their 
‘attack. ‘To reach this conclusion it would seem that there 
ies no need of many combinations, no need of sueh sedulous 
and solicitous preparations on the part of the emperor and 
his marshals. That high and extraordinary capacity called 
‘genius, which men so lke to attribute to Napoleon, was en- 
tirely superfluous. But the historians who have most recently 
described these events, and the men who at that time sur- 
tounded Napoleon, and Napoleon himself, thought otherwise. 

Napoleon rode over the ground, inspected the battle-field 
profoundly absorbed in thought, moved his head in silent 
‘approval or disapproval, and, without deigning to reveal to 

























234 WAR AND PEACE. 


the generals about him the profound ideas that influenced hi 
decisions, he gave them only definite deductions in the fon 
of orders. 

Davoust, called the Duke of Eckmiihl, having proposed t 
turn the left flank of the Russians, Napoleon declared that i 
was unnecessary, without explaining why it was unnecessary 

To the proposition of General Campan (who was to attac 
the fleches) to lead his division through the woods, Napoleo 
gave his consent; the so-called Duke of Elchingen (that 1s 
Ney) permitted himself to observe that the march throug 
the woods Would be dangerous, and might throw the divisio 
into disorder. 

Napoleon, having inspected the ground over against th 
Shevardino redoubt, remained for some time in silent medit: 
tion; then he pointed out the positions where two batteri 
were to be placed for the bombardment of the Russian fort 
fications on the next day, and he selected positions on t 
same line for the field artillery. 

Having given these and other orders, he retired to his tent 
and at his dictation the plan of battle was committed t 
writing. ; 

This plan, of which French historians speak with enth 
siasm, and which the historians of other nations treat wit 
deep respect, was as follows : — 


At daybreak the two new batteries established during the night on tl 
plateau by the Prince of Eckmiihl will open fire upon the two opposii 
batteries of the enemy. 

At the same moment, General Pernety, commanding the First Corps 
artillery, with thirty cannon from Campan’s division, and all the howit: 
ers of Dessaix’s and Friant’s divisions, will advance and begin shellin 
the enemy’s battery, which will thus have opposed to it, — 


24 pieces of the artillery of the Guard, 
30 pieces from Campan’s division, and 
8 pieces from Friant’s and Dessaix’s divisions. 


Total: 62 cannon. 


General Fouché, commanding the Third Corps of artillery, will pla 
himself with all the howitzers of the Third and Eighth Corps, sixteen 
number, on the flanks of the battery attacking the left redoubt, givir 
this battery an effective of 40 pieces. 

General Sorbier will stand ready, at the first word of command, wit 
all the howitzers of the Guard, to bring to bear against one or the oth 
redoubt. 

During the cannonade, Prince Poniatowski will move against tl 
village in the woods, and turn the position of the enemy. 

General Campan will move along the edge of the woods to carry t 
first redoubt, 


WAR AND PEACE. 935 


| The battle thus begun, orders will be given according to the enemy’s 
ovements. 


"The cannonade on the left flank ‘will begin at the moment when that 
ithe right is heard. A heavy infantry fire will be opened by Morand’s 


vision, and by the divisions of the viceroy, as soon as they see that the 
tack on the right has begun. ‘ 


_ The viceroy will take possession of the village,* and debouch by its 
ree bridges upon the heights, while Generals Morand and Gérard will 
‘yploy under command of the viceroy to seize the enemy’s redoubt and 
rm the line of battle with the other troops. 

/ All this must be done with order and method (le tout se fera avec 
dre et méthode), taking care to hold the troops in reserve so far as 
“yssible. 


| At the imperial camp, near Mozhaisk, Sept. 6, 1812. 


| This order — very far from clear in its style, and confusing 
yany one who is sufficiently lacking in religious awe for the 
‘nius of Napoleon as to dare analyze its meaning — contains 
ur points, four commands. Not one of these commands could 
‘ave been executed; not one of them was executed. 

In the order of battle the first command read as follows: — 


L 


The batteries established at the points selected by Napoleon, with the 
‘nnon of Pernety and Fouché, will place themselves in line, one hundred 
id two pieces in all, and, opening fire, will storm the Russian outworks 
ad redoubts with shot and shell. 


‘This could not be done, because from the place selected by 
apoleon the missiles did not reach the Russian works, and 
jese one hundred and two cannon thundered in vain until 
i@ nearest commander ordered them forward, contrary to 
‘apoleon’s decree. 

The second command was to this effect : — 


-Poniatowski will move against the village in the woods, and turn the 
ft wing of the Russians. . 


This could not be done and was not done, because Ponia- 
wski, on moving toward the village in the woods, found 
‘otchkof there blocking the way, and he could not and did 
‘it turn the position of the Russians. 

The third command, — 


General Campan will move along the edge of the woods to carry the 
|$t redoubt. 

“Campan’s division did not carry the first redoubt, but it 
as repulsed, because, on emerging from the woods, it was 


) 
* Borodino. 





236 WAR AND PEACE. 


obliged to close up under the Russian grapeshot, something 
that Napoleon had not foreseen. » 
Fourth, — 


The viceroy will take possession of the village [Borodino], and deboucl 
by its three bridges upon the heights, while Generals Morand and Gérar< 
[who are told neither where nor when to go| will deploy under commanc 
of the viceroy to seize the enemy’s redoubt and form the line of battl 
with the other troops. é 


So far as it is possible to understand this (not from the 
vague phraseology employed, but from the viceroy’s attemp 
to carry out the orders he received), it seems he was to move 
through Borodino from the left upon the redoubt, and tha 
Morand and Gérard’s divisions were at the same time ti 
advance from the front. 

This command, like all the rest, was not carried out, 
because it was impracticable. : 

When he had got beyond Borodino, the viceroy was forced 
back upon the Kalotcha, and found it impossible to advance: 
Morand and Gérard’s divisions did not take any redoubts, but 
were repulsed, and the redoubt was carried by the cavalry at 
the close of the battle, a contingency that Napoleon appan: 
ently had not foreseen. | 

Thus not one of the commands in this order was performed 
or could have been. 

The order further announced that “during the battle thus 
begun ” instructions would be given in accordance with th 
enemy’s movements, and therefore we might infer that Napo 
leon, during the battle, made all the suggestions that wer 
necessary. He did, and could have done, nothing of the sort 
because throughout the engagement Napoleon happened ti 
be so far away from the field of action that the progress o/ 
the battle could not even have been known to him, and not 
one of his orders during the time of the engagement coulc 
have been carried out. 





CHAPTER XXVIII. 





A numBER of historians assert that the battle of Borodinc 
was not gained by the French because Napoleon had a cold it 
the head, that if it had not been for this cold, his drrange 
ments before and during the battle would have displayed stil 
more genius, and Russia would have been conquered, and th. 
face of the world would have been changed. 







_ WAR AND PEACE. 937 


Historians who believe that Russia was formed at the will 
f one man, Peter the Great, and that France was changed 
rom a republic to an empire and that the French armies 
waded Russia at the will of one man, Napoleon, inevitably 
aink that Russia retained power after the battle of Borodino 
ecause Napoleon had a bad cold in his head on September 7 ; 
-and such historians are logically consistent. 

“If it had depended on Napoleon’s will to give or not to give 
attle at Borodino, on his will to make or not to make such 
nd such dispositions of his forces, then evidently the cold in 
is head, which had such influence on the manifestation of 
is will, may have been the cause of the salvation of Russia, 
nd the valet who, on September 5, forgot to provide Napoleon 
tith waterproof boots was the savior of Russia. 

When we have once started on this line of reasoning, this 
onclusion is inevitable ; just as inevitable as that reached by 
Toltaire when in jest — himself not knowing what he was driy- 
ag at — he demonstrated that the Massacre of Saint Bartholo- 
aew was due to the fact that Charles IX. suffered from an 
adigestion. 

| But to men who do not grant that Russia was formed at the 
rill of one man, Peter I., and that the French empire arose 
r that the campaign in Russia was undertaken at the bidding 
fasingle man, Napoleon, such reasoning will appear to be 
lot only false, but contrary to all human experience. To the 
mestion, What is the cause of historical events ? a very 
lifferent answer presents itself, and one that implies that the 
mogress of events on earth is pre-ordained; that it depends 
m the combined volition of all who participate in these 
vents, and that the influence of Napoleons upon the progress 
if these events is superficial and fictitious. 

How strange seems at first glance the proposition that the 
Wlassacre of Saint Bartholomew, the order for which was given 
y Charles IX., did not come from his own volition, but that it 
nerely seemed to him that he had ordered it to be done; or 
hat the battle of Borodino, which cost the lives of eighty 
housand men, was not fought through Napoleon’s volition, 
hough he gave the orders for the beginning and course of the 
Mgagement, but that it merely seemed to him that he had 
wdered it—how strange seems this proposition; but the 
lignity of humanity, which tells me that each of us, if he be 
jot more of a man, is at least not less than every Napoleon, 
lirects me to this solution of the problem, and it is powerfully 
ustitied by historical facts. 


238 WAR AND PEACE. 


At the battle of Borodino, Napoleon did not shoot anybod 
or kill anybody. All that was done by his soldiers. O 
course he did not do any killing himself. 

The soldiers of the French army went into the battle o 
Borodino to kill Russian soldiers, not in consequence 0 
Napoleon’s orders, but of their own impulses. The whol 
army, French, Italians, Germans, Polyaks, famished and i 
rags, worn out by the campaign, felt, at sight of the Russiar 
army barring the road to Moscow, that the wine was uncorked 
and they had only to drink, — que le vin est tiré et qwil fau 
le boire. If at this moment Napoleon had forbidden the 
to fight the Russians they would have killed him and fough 
with the Russians; for this was inevitable for them. . 

When they heard Napoleon’s proclamation which offerec 
them in exchange for mutilation and death, the consoling 
testimony of posterity that they had been in the battle ai 
Moscow, they cried, “Vive l’Empereur /” —just as they criec 
“ Vive V Empereur !” at seeing the picture of the child piercing 
the terrestrial globe with the bilboquet stick; and just as 
they would have shouted “ Vive /Empereur/” to any non 
sense proffered to them. . } 

There was nothing more for them to do than to ery “ Viv 
lv’ Empereur!” and go into battle in order to reach food and 
the repose of victors at Moscow. Of course it was not at 
Napoleon’s order that they killed their fellow-men. 

And Napoleon did not direct the progress of the battle, fo1 
no part of his plan was carried out; and during the engage 
ment he did not know what was going on before him. 

Of course, how these men killed each other had nothing t« 
do with Napoleon, but was independent of his will; it was 
determined by the will of the hundreds of thousands of mer 
who took part in the combat. It only seemed to Napoleor 
that it proceeded by his will. 

Thus the question, “ Did or did not Napoleon have a colc 
in his head?” is of no more importance to history than th¢ 
question whether the most insignificant train-hand had a colc 
in the head. 

The fact that Napoleon was afflicted with a cold in the hea¢ 
on September 7 is still more insignificant because the asser 
tions made by writers that this cold in the head caused Napo 
leon’s dispositions and orders at the time of the battle to be 
less skilful than those in times past, are perfectly false. 

The plan, here described, was not at all inferior —it was 
even superior — to all the plans by which his previous battles 



















WAR AND PEACE. 239 


jad been won. The imaginary combinations during this 
vattle were not in the least inferior to those of previous 
yattles; they were just the same as always. But these dis- 
ositions and combinations seem less fortunate because the 
attle of Borodino was the first battle that Napoleon did not 
‘yin. The best plans and the most sagacious dispositions and 
sombinations in the world seem very poor, and every scien- 
jific soldier does not hesitate to criticise them with solemn 
Vace, when they do not end in victory! And the feeblest dis- 
\ositions and combinations seem very excellent, and learned 
‘men devote entire volumes to the demonstration of the 
‘superiority of wretched plans when they are crowned with 
success. 

| The plan proposed by Weirother for the battle of Auster- 
itz was a model of its kind, but it was nevertheless condemned 
for its very perfection, for its superabundance of details. 

| Napoleon at the battle of Borodino played his part as 
sepresentative of power as well as in other battles —even 
better. He did nothing that could hinder the successful 
hourse of the battle ; he accepted the most reasonable advice ; 
he did not confuse his orders, he did not contradict himself, 
be did not lose heart, he did not abandon the field of -battle, 
out with all his tact and his great experience in war he played 
‘with calmness and dignity the part of a fictitious commander. 





| 
| 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
: 








| Own returning from his second solicitous tour of inspection 
along the line, Napoleon said, — . 

“The chessmen are set, the game will begin to-morrow.” 

Calling for a glass of punch, and summoning Beausset, he 
degan to talk with him about Paris, and discuss various altera- 
‘jions which he proposed to make in the empress’s household, 
‘—la maison de 0 Impératrice, — causing wonder at the atten- 
sion which he gave to the minutest details of court manage- 
ment. 

He displayed great interest in trifles, he jested at Beausset’s 
fondness for travel, and with perfect coolness he chatted just 
as a famous and self-confident surgeon, who knew his busi- 
Jness, might do, even while he rolls up his cuffs and puts on 
his apron and the patient is fastened to the operating-table. 

“The whole thing is in my hands and in my head, clearly 
yd definitely. When the time comes to act, I will do my 





240 WAR AND PEACE. 


work, as no one else could, but now I can jest; and the more 
jest and appear calm and collected, the more should you b 
confident, trustful, and amazed at my genius.” 

After drinking a second glass of punch, Napoleon went t 
rest before the serious affair which, as it seemed to him, we 
waiting for him on the next day. 

He was so much interested in this affair that was befor 
him, that he could not sleep, and, in spite of his cold, whic 
had been increased by the evening dampness, he got up abou 
three o’clock in the morning, and, loudly blowing his nos¢ 
passed into the outer division of his tent.. He asked if th 
Russians had not retreated. He was told that the enemy’ 
hres were still burning in the same places. He nodded hi 
head approvingly. The aide-de-camp on duty entered th 
tent. 

“ Well, Rapp, do you think we shall have good luck to-day ?' 

“Certainly, your majesty,” replied Rapp. Napoleon gay 
him an attentive look. “You remember, your majesty, tha 
you did me the honor of remarking at Smolensk, — ‘The winei 
uncorked, we have only to drink it.’” * : . 

Napoleon frowned, and sat for some time in silence, restin: 
his head on his hands. “This poor army,” he exclaimed sud 
denly, “has been seriously diminishing since we left Smolensk: 
Fortune is a fickle jade, Rapp; I always said so, and I aii 
beginning to experience it. But the Guard, Rapp, the Guar 
is undiminished ? ” ¢ he said, with a questioning reflection. 

“Yes, your majesty,” replied Rapp. 

Napoleon took a lozenge, put it in his mouth, and glance: 
at his watch. He felt no inclination to sleep, though it wa 
still long before morning ; but it was impossible to issue ami 
more orders for the sake of killing time, for they had all bee1 
made, and were even then being executed. 

“ Flave the biscuits and rice been distributed among the regi 
ments of the Guard?” demanded Napoleon, sternly. 

“ Oui, sire.” ° 

“ But the rice ?” 

Rapp replied that he had issued the emperor’s orders it 
regard to the rice, but Napoleon shook his head angrily, a 
though he had no confidence in his orders having been fulfilled 





* “Eh bien, Rapp, croyez-vous que nous ferons de bonnes affaires aujour 
Chui??? —* Sans aucun doute, sire. Vous rappelez-vous, sire, ce que vort 
miavez fait VThonneur de dire a Smolensk, ‘Le vin est tiré, il faut le boire??”’ 

t ‘* Cette pauvre armée! elle a bien diminuée depuis Smolensk. La Fortun 
est une franche courtisane; je le disais toujours, et je commence a l’éprouver 
Mais (a garde, Rapp, la garde est intacte?”’ 


WAR AND PEACE. 241 


‘The servant came in with the punch. Napoleon commanded 
mother glass to be given to Rapp, and silently sipped from 
is OWN 

“J have no taste or smell,” said he, sniffing at the glass. 
€This influenza is a nuisance. They talk about medicine. 
What does medicine amount to when they can’t even cure a 
jold! Corvisart gave me these lozenges, but they don’t help 
me any. What can they cure ? What can physic do? Noth- 
ngatall! Our body is a living machine. It is organized for 
jhat purpose, that is its nature; let the life in it be left to 
tself; let it defend itself; it will do more than if you 
paralyze it by loading it down with remedies. Our body is 
like a perfect watch which is meant to go a certain time; the 
‘watchmaker cannot open it ; he can only regulate it by his sense 
of feeling and with his eyes shut. Our body is a living ma- 
ehine, that is all it is.” * 

And Napoleon having got upon the subject of definitions, 
of which he was very fond, he suddenly and unexpectedly 
made still a new one. 

| “Rapp, do you know what the art of war is ?” he asked. 
It is the art of being stronger than the enemy at a given 
moment — Voila tout /” 

Rapp made no reply. 

“To-morrow we shall have Kutuzof to deal with,’ said 
Napoleon. “We shall see. You remember he commanded 
the armies at Braunau, and not once during three weeks did 
he mount a horse to inspect the fortifications. We shallsee!” 

He glanced at his watch. It was only four o’clock.. He 
‘still had no desire to sleep; the punch was drunk up, and still 
there was nothing to do. He got up, began to pace up and 
down; then he put on his thick overcoat and hat and went 
outside the tent. The night was dark and damp; one could 
almost hear the moisture falling. The bivouac fires, even 
“those near at hand. burned far from brightly, and those in the 
distance, in the Russian lines, gleamed dimly through the 
wrack. Through the silence clearly could be heard the bustle 
and trampling of the French troops, already beginning to 
move to their designated positions. 

_ Napoleon walked out in front of his tent, gazed at the 


; 

;  * “ Notre corps est une machine-a-vivre. Ilest organisé pour cela; Cest sa 
- nature; laissez-y la vie a son aise, quelle s’y defende elle-méme; elle fera 
‘plus que si vous la paralysiez en Vencombrant de remédes. Notre corps est 
, une montre parfaite qui doit aller un certain temps : Vhorloger n’a pas la 
. faculté de Vouvrir ; il ne peut la manier qua tdtons et les yeux bandés. Notre 
| corps est une machine-a-vivre : voila tout !”’ 


VoL. 3.— 16. 


~~ 


249 WAR AND PEACE. 


fires, listened to the growing tumult, and, as he passed by < 
tall grenadier in a dampened hat, who was on duty as sentine. 
by his tent, and standing stiff and straight like a pillar when th 
emperor appeared, Napoleon paused : — : 

“How long have you been in the service?” he asked, witl 
his ordinary affectation of hearty and affectionate military 
bluntness, which he always employed when dealing with his 
soldiers. ‘The soldier answered him, — | 

“Ah! un des vieux ” —a veteran. 

“Has your regiment received the rice ? ” 

“We have, your majesty.” 

Napoleon nodded and left him. 


At half-past five, Napoleon mounted and rode to the village 
of Shevardino. 

It was beginning to grow light; the sky was clearing; only 
a single cloud lay against the east. The deserted bivouac 
fires were dying out in the pale light of the morning. 

At the right thundered a single heavy cannon-shot, prolonged 
by the echoes, and finally dying away amid the general silence. 

There was an interval of several minutes. A second shot, 
then a third rolled out, shaking the very air; a fourth, a fifth 
answered near at hand, and solemnly, somewhere at the right. 

The echoes of the first cannon shots had not died away 
when still others joined in, then more and more, mingling and 
blending in one continuous roar. 

Napoleon galloped with his suite to the Shevardino redoubt 
and there dismounted. | 

The game had begun. 


CHAPTER XXX. 


HAvine returned to Gorki from his visit to Prince Andrei, 
Pierre gave his orders to his equerry to have his horses ready, 
and to waken him early in the morning, and then immediately 
went to sleep behind the screen in the corner which Boris had 
kindly offered him. 

When Pierre was fairly awake the next morning there was 
not a soul in the cottage. The window-panes in the little 
windows were rattling. His equerry was standing by him, 
shaking him. 

“ Your illustriousness, your illustriousness, your illustrious- 
ness!” — exclaimed the equerry, stubbornly shaking him by 


, 


WAR AND PEACE. 243 


he shoulder, and apparently hopeless of being able to wake 


im. 

“What? Hasit begun? Is it time?” demanded Pierre, 
pening his eyes. 

~ “Be good enough to listen to the firing,” said the equerry, 
yho had once been a soldier. 

_ “The gentlemen have all gone. His. serene highness went 
ong ago.” . 
Pierre hurriedly dressed and went out on the steps. Out- 
ide it was bright, cool, dewy, and cheerful. The sun was just 
naking its way out from under the cloud which had obscured 
t momentarily, and poured its rays through the breaking 
louds, across the roofs of the opposite houses, over the dusty 
‘oad covered with dew, on the walls of the houses, on the 
yindows of the cathedral, and Pierre’s horses standing near 
he cottage. Out of doors the rolling of the cannon was heard 
nore distinctly. An adjutant, followed by his Cossack, was 
yalloping down the street. 

_ “It is time, count, time,” cried the adjutant. 7 

- Ordering the man to follow him with his horse, Pierre walked 
ilong the road to the mound from the top of which, the day 
pefore, he had surveyed the field of battle. Here were col- 
lected a throng of military men, and he could hear the mem- 
bers of the staff talking French, and he could see Kutuzof’s 
gray head covered with a white hat with red band, and the 
gray nape of his neck sunk between his shoulders. He was 
gazing through his field-glass to the front along the highway. 
As Pierre mounted the steps that led to the top of the mound, 
he looked out over the prospect, and was overwhelmed at the 
beauty of the spectacle. 

It was the same panorama which he had surveyed the day 
before from the same elevation; but now all those localities 
were covered with troops and the smoke of the cannon, and 
the slanting rays of the bright sun rising behind Pierre at the 
left fell upon it through the clear morning atmosphere in 
floods of light, shot with golden and rosy tones and intermin- 
gled with long, dark shadows. 

The distant forests which bounded the panorama, just as 
though it were hewn out of some precious yellow-green gem, 
traced the curving line of the tree-tops against the horizon, and 
between them, beyond Valuyevo, the great Smolensk highway, 
now all covered with troops, cut its way. 
Still nearer gleamed the golden fields and groves. Hvery- 
where, in front and behind, at the right hand and at the left, 


244 WAR AND PEACE. 


the armies were swarming. The whole scene was animated 
majestic, and marvellous; but what surprised Pierre mon 
than all was the spectacle of the battle-field itself, Borodino 
and the valley through’ which the Kalotcha River ran. 

Over the Kalotcha at Borodino, and on both sides of th 
river, more noticeably on the left bank, where, through marshy 
intervaies, the Vonia falls into the Kalotcha, was that mis’ 
which so mysteriously veils, spreads, and grows transparent ai 
the bright sun mounts, and magically colors and transform: 
everything which is seen through it. 

The smoke of the cannon was blending with this mist, and 
over this blended mist and smoke, everywhere, gleamed the 
lightning flashes of the morning brilliancy, here over the 
water, there on dewy meadows, there on the baycnets of 
the infantry swarming along the banks and in the village. 

Through this mist could be seen a white church, a few roofs 
of Borodino cottages, here and there compact masses of sol. 
diers, here and there green éaissons, cannons. And this scene 
was 1n motion, or seemed to be in motion, because this mist 
and smoke was stretched over the whole space. On these 
lowlands around Borodino covered with mist, so also above, 
and especially at the left, over the whole line, over the woods, 
over the fields, in the hollows, on the summits of the rising 
ground, constantly born, self-evolved from nothing, rose the 
puffs of cannon-smoke; now singly, now in groups; now scat- 
tered, now clustered; and as they formed, and grew, and 
coalesced, and melted together, they seemed to cover the whole 
space. These puffs of cannon-smoke and, strange to say, the 
sounds that accompanied them, constituted the chief charm of 
the spectacle. : 

Puff! suddenly appeared a round, compact ball of smoke 
playing in violet, gray, and milk-white hues, and — dumm! 
would follow in a second the report of this smoke-ball. 

Puff, puff / arose two balls of smoke jostling and blending, 
and —bumm! bumm/ came the coalescing sounds that con- 
firmed what the eye had seen. | 

Pierre gazed at the first puff of smoke which he still saw as 
a round, compact ball, and before he knew it, its place was 
taken by two balls of smoke borne off to one side, and puff —- 
with an interval —puff, puff, rose three others, then four 
others, and each was followed at intervals with the é&wmm, 
bumm, bumm — genuine, beautiful, satisfying sounds. Some: 
times it seemed as though these putts of smoke were flying, 
sometimes as though they were standing still, while past them 
flew the forests, the fields, and the glittering bayonets, 





WAR AND PEACE. 245 


On the left, over the meadows and clumps of trees, these 
great balls of smoke were constantly rising with their solemn 
voices, and still nearer, over the lowlands and along the forests, 
burst forth the little puffs of musket-smoke which had no time 
to form into balls, and yet these, in precisely the same way, 
uttered their little resonances. Zvrakh-ta-ta-takh/ rattled the 
musketry, though irregularly and frequent and pale in com- 
parison with the cannon-shots. 

Pierre had an intense longing to be where those puffs of 
smoke originated, those glittering bayonets, that movement, 
those sounds. 

He looked at Kutuzof and at his suite, so as to compare his 
Own impressions with those of others. All, exactly the. same 
as he himself, and, as it seemed to him, with the same senti- 
Ment, were gazing down upon the field of battle. All faces 
now were lighted up by that latent heat which Pierre had 
observed the day before, and which he understood perfectly 
after his conversation with Prince Andrei. . 

“Go on, my dear,* go on; Christ be with you,” Kutuzof 
was saying to a general standing near him, but he kept his 
eyes fixed on the battle-field. 

On hearing this command, the general went past Pierre on 
his way to the descent down the hill. 

“To the crossing,” replied the general coldly and sternly, 
to one of the staff, who asked where he was going. 

“JT too, I too,” said Pierre to himself, and he followed in the 
direction taken by the general. 

The general mounted his horse, which his Cossack led for- 
ward. Pierre went to his equerry, who had his horses in 
charge. Asking which was the gentlest, Pierre mounted, 
grasped his mane, gouged his heels into the horse’s flanks, and 
feeling that his spectacles were going to tumble off, and that 
he could not possibly remove his hands from the mane and 
bridle, he went cantering after the general, arousing the laugh- 
ter of the staff, who were looking at him from the hill-top. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


Tue general whom Pierre was following rode down the 
hillside the shortest way and then turned to the left, and 
Pierre, losing him from sight, came full upon a file of infantry 
Who were marching in his direction. He tried to get. past 


* Golubchik, 


246 WAR AND PEACE. 












them in front, then at the left, and then at the right; but | 
everywhere there were soldiers, all with anxious, eager faces; 
all engaged in some invisible but evidently important action. 
All, with similarly involuntarily questioning glances, looked | 
at this portly man in the white hat, who, for some unknown | 

reason, insisted on trampling them down with his horse. 
“What makes you ride in front of the battalion ?” cried 
one to him. Another poked his horse with the but-end of 
his musket, and Pierre, clinging to the saddle and scarcely able | 
to restrain his plunging horse, galloped in front of the soldiers | 
where there was room. 
In front of him there was a bridge, and near the bridge} 
other soldiers were stationed, firing. Pierre rode up to them. 
Not knowing why he did so, Pierre had approached the bridge} 
over the Kalotcha, between Borodino and Gorki, where in the | 
first action of the battle (called Borodino) the French made a} 
charge. | 
Pierre saw that there was a bridge before him, and that on} 
both ends of the bridge, and on the meadow, among the haycocks | 
which he had noticed the day before, the soldiers were doing| 
something; but, in spite of the incessant firing going on in this| 
place, it never once occurred to him that here was the battle-| 
field. He heard not the sounds of the bullets whizzing on all} 
sides, or the projectiles flying over his head; he saw not the 
enemy on the other side of the river, and it was long before he) 
saw the killed and wounded, although many were falling not) 
far from him. With a smile that did not leave his lips, he 
| 


glanced around him. 
“ What makes that man ride in front of the line?” again 
cried some one. 
“Take the right —take the left!” they cried to him. 
Pierre took the left, and unexpectedly fell in with one of 
General Rayevsky’s adjutants whom he knew. ‘This adjutant} 
looked fiercely at Pierre, evidently with the intention of) 
shouting some command, but then, recognizing him, he shook, 
his head. | 
“How come you here?” he cried and dashed away. 
Pierre, feeling that he was out of place and useless, and 
fearing lest he should be a hinderance to some one, galloped 
after the adjutant. | 
“ What is this here? Can I go with you?” he asked. 
“ Wait a moment,” replied the adjutant, and, riding up to @ 
stout colonel who was stationed on the meadow, he gave him 
some order, and immediately turned back to Pierre. 


WAR AND PEACE. DAT 


| “How do you happen to get here, count?” he demanded 
vith asmile. “Is it out of curiosity ?” 

«Yes, yes,” replied Pierre. 
| But the adjutant, wheeling, started to gallop away. “Here 
t is all right, thank God,” said he, “but on the left flank, 
vhere Bagration is, there’s frightfully hot work going on.” 

“ Really ?” exclaimed Pierre. “ Where is that ? ” 
“Come with me to the hill: you can see very well from 
here, and at our battery there it is still endurable,” said the 
djutant. | 

“ Yes, I will go with you,” returned Pierre, looking around 
iim and trying to discover his equerry. ‘Then only for the 
irst time Pierre caught sight of the wounded, dragging them- 
‘elves to the rear on foot or borne on stretchers. On the same 
»lot of meadow land, with the wind-rows of fragrant hay, over 
‘vhich he had ridden the evening before, there lay, right amidst 
he ranks, a soldier motionless, with his head awkwardly 
thrown back and his shako knocked off. 

_“ But why have they not carried him off?” Pierre was going 
|o ask, but, seeing the adjutant’s stern face turned to the same 
‘pot, he refrained. 

Pierre could not discover his equerry, and so he rode in 
‘ompany with the adjutant down across the hollow to 
‘Nayevsky’s hill. Pierre’s horse could not keep up with the 
idjutant’s, and shook him at every step. 

“You are apparently not used to riding on horseback, 
ount ?” suggested the adjutant. 

“No, it’s nothing; but somehow he limps badly,” said Pierre 
‘n perplexity. 

“H—é! but he’s wounded,” said the adjutant, “ right fore- 
2g, above the knee. Must have beena bullet. I congratulate 
Ou, count,” said he, ‘le baptéme du feu!’ ” 

' Making their way through the wrack to the Sixth Corps, 
hind the artillery, which, unlimbered forward, was blazing 
‘Way with a stunning thunder of discharges, they reached a 
‘rove. Here in the grove it was cool and still, and smelt hke 
utumn. Pierre and the adjutant dismounted and went up 
‘he hill on foot. 

a Where is the general? ” asked the adjutant, as he reached 
he top. 

“ He’s just gone, he went yonder,’ was the answer, the men 
‘ointing to the right. : 

' The adjutant glanced at Pierre, as though he did not know 
that to do with him now. 





248 WAR AND PEACE. 

“Don’t disturb yourself on my account,” said Pierre. “] 
will go to the top of the hill; can’t 1?” 

“Yes, do so; you can see everything from there, and it 
won't be so dangerous. And I will come back after you.” 

Pierre went to the battery, and the adjutant went on his 
way. They did not meet again, and it was not till long after 
that Pierre learned that this adjutant lost an arm on that day. 

The kurgdan or hill on which Pierre had come, became after- 
wards known to the Russians as the Kurgan battery or 
Rayevsky’s battery, and to the French as la grande redoute, la 
fatale redoute, la redoute du centre. It was the place around 
which tens of thousands of men were slain, and the French 
considered it the most important point of the whole position. 

This redoubt consisted of the kurgan, on three sides of 
which trenches had been dug. In this place, surrounded by 
the trenches, were stationed ten active cannon, discharging 
through the embrasures of the earthworks. 

In a line with the kurg4n cannon were stationed, on either 
side, also belching forth continuous discharges. A little to 
the rear of the cannon stood the infantry. ; 

Pierre, on reaching this kurgan, never once dreamed that this 
small space intrenched with earthworks where he was stand- 
ing, and where a few cannon were in full blast, was the most 
important point of the whole battle. On the contrary, it 
seemed to Pierre that this place, simply because he had come 
to it, was one of the most unimportant places of the battle- 
field. 

On reaching the kurgan, Pierre sat down at one end of a 
trench which enclosed the battery, and with a smile of 
unconscious satisfaction gazed at what was going on around 
him. Occasionally with the same smile he would get to his 
feet, and, at the same time trying not to be in the way of the 
soldiers who were loading and pushing forward the guns or 
constantly passing him with powder and shot, he would walk 
through the battery. The cannon in this battery were con- 
stantly fired one after another with an overwhelming crash, 
and the whole place was swathed in eunpowder smoke. 

In contradistinction to that sense of gloom which is always 
felt among the infantry soldiers of a covering force, in a bat 
tery where a small band of men are limited and shut off from 
the rest by a trench, here there is a sort of family feeling, | 
which is shared equally by all. : 

The appearance of Pierre’s unmilitary figure, in his white - 


hat, at first struck these men unpleasantly. The soldiers | 


WAR AND PEACE. 249 


‘ing him looked askance at him with a mixture of amazement 
‘and timidity. The senior artillery officer, — a tall, long-legged, 
‘pock-marked man,— under the pretence of inspecting the be- 
havior of the endmost cannon, came where Pierre was and gazed 
‘Inquisitively at him. 

A young, round-faced little officer, still a mere lad, who had 

evidently just come out of the “ Korpus,” and who was very 
zealously commanding the two guns committed to his charge, 
looked tiercely at Pierre. 
_ “We must ask you, sir, to go away; you cannot remain here.” 
_ The soldiers shook their heads disapprovingly as they looked 
at Pierre. But when all were convinced that this man in the 
white hat was not only doing no harm as he sat calmly on the 
talus of the trench or walked up and down the battery, facing 
the missiles as steadily as though he were on the boulevard, 
and with his genial smile politely making way for the soldiers, 
then gradually this feeling of disapproval and perplexity be- 
gan to give place to an affectionate and jocose sympathy such 
as soldiers are apt to manifest for dogs, cocks, goats, and other 
animals that are found in their ranks. ‘These soldiers instantly 
‘adopted Pierre into their family, and gave him a nickname. 
“ Nash barin” — “Our Gentleman ” — was what they called 
him, and they good-naturedly laughed about him among them- 
selves. 

A round shot tore up the earth within two paces of Pierre. 
Shaking off the dirt which the missile scattered over him, 
Pierre glanced around with a smile. 

“Didn’t that frighten you, barin ? truly, didn’t it? ” asked a 
broad soldier with a rubicund face, displaying his strong white 
teeth. 

“Why, are you afraid ?” retorted Pierre. 

“How can one help it?” replied the soldier. “ You see, she 
has no mercy. If she strikes, your innards fly! So one can’t 
help being afraid,” said he with a laugh. 

Several soldiers with jovial, friendly faces were standing 
near Pierre. They seemed not to have expected him to speak 
like other men, and to find that he did surprised them. 

“Soldiering’s our business. But this man is a barin, so it’s 
wonderful! What a barin he is!” 

“To your places,” commanded the young officer to the sol- 
diers collecting round Pierre. This young officer was evidently 
for the first or perhaps the second time on duty of this kind, 
and accordingly he behaved to his men and his superiors with 
especial preciseness and formality. The rolling thunder of 





; 


950 WAR AND PEACE. 


ed 


the cannon and of the musketry was intensified all over the 
held, noticeably at the left, where Bagration’s fleches were 
situated, but Pierre, owing to the smoke of the discharges, 
could see nothing at all from where he was. | 

Moreover, Pierre’s entire attention was absorbed in watch- 
ing what was going on in this little circle, this adopted family 
as it were—separated from all the rest. Unconsciously his 
first feeling of gratification aroused by the sights and sounds 
of the battle-field had changed character, now, especially since 
he had seen that soldier lying by himself on the meadow. 
As he sat now on the talus of the trench he contemplated the 
faces around him. . 

It was only ten o’clock, but a score of men had been already 
carried from the battery ; two of the cannon were dismounted, 
and the missiles were falling into the battery with greater and 
greater frequency, and the shot flew over their heads with | 
screeching and whizzing. But the men who were serving the 
battery seemed to pay no heed to this; on all sides were 
heard only gay talk and jests. 

“Old stuffing!” * cried a soldier to a shell that flew close 
over his head with a whiz. 

“This is the wrong place. Go to the infantry,” added a 
second, perceiving that the shell flew over and struck in the 
ranks of the covering forces. 

“ What is that, an acquaintance of yours?” asked another 
with a laugh, as a muzhik bowed under a round shot that 
went flying over. 

A few soldiers collected around the breastwork, trying to 
make out what was going on at the front. 

“Well, they’ve captured the lines, do you see; they’re re-— 
treating,” said they, pointing across the breastwork. a 

“Mind your own business,” cried an old sergeant. “If 
they’re retiring, of course it’s because they’re needed else- 
where.” . 

And the non-commissioned officer, seizing one of the soldiers — 
by the shoulder, gave him a boost with his knee. A roar of 
laughter was heard. 

“Serve No. 5! Forward!” rang out on one side. | 

“A long pull, and a strong pull, anda pull all together,” 
cheerfully shouted the men who were pushing the cannon — 
forward. 

‘“‘ Ai! that one almost took our barin’s hat off,” cried the rubi- 
eund jester, with a laugh that showed his teeth. — “Ekh! you: | 

* Chinyonka : any object filled with anything, "i 


es 2 


\ 
vy 


d 








WAR AND PEACE. 201 


deastly thing,” he added reproachfully to the ball, which car- 
‘ied off a gun-wheel and a man’s leg. 

“Well, you foxes!” cried another with a laugh to the land- 
vehr men, who, all bent double, came forward totthe battery, 
o remove the wounded. “Isn’t this gruel to your taste ? 
Akh! you crows!* are you frozen stiff?” cried the soldiers 
jo the wilitia-men, who were dismayed at the sight of the sol- 
ier with the leg torn off. “That’s only a little one!” said 
hey, imitating the dialect of the peasants. “Don’t like to be 
afraid, do you ?” 

Pierre observed how after the fall of each new missile, after 
‘ach new loss, the general excitement became more and more 
ntensified. 

_ Just as when a heavy thunder shower is approaching, more 
ind more frequently, more and more dazzlingly, flashed forth 
m the faces of all these men the lightnings of that latent but 
10w developing heat. It was as though called forth by resist- 
ince. 

' Pierre did not look out on the battle-field, and he was not 
nterested in knowing what was going on there: he was en- 
‘rely absorbed in the contemplation of this ever more and 
nore developing fire, which now in exactly the same way — 
1e Was conscious — was also kindling in his own soul. 

At ten o’clock, the infantry, who had been in front of the 
dattery, in the thickets, and along the Kamenka, or Stony 
3rook, retreated. From the battery they could be seen run- 
ung back past it, carrying their wounded on their muskets. 

A general with his suite dashed up the kurgdn, and, after 
xxchanging a few words with the colonel and giving Pierre a 
ierce look, rode back down again, ordering the covering infan- 
ty who were stationed behind the battery, to lie down, so as 
10t to expose themselves to the missiles. Immediately after 
‘his, in the ranks of the infantry, at the right of the battery 
vere heard the rolling of a drum and shouts of command, and 
‘hey in the battery could see how the ranks of infantry 
noved forward. 

Pierre looked over the breastworks. One face especially 
‘truck his eye. This was a pale-faced young officer, who was 
narching with them backwards, holding his sword-point down 
ind looking anxiously around. 
| The ranks of infantry disappeared in the smoke, their pro- 
onged cheer was heard and the continuous rattle of their 
nusketry fire. After a few minutes a throng of wounded men 
valking and on stretchers came strageling back. 


* Voronui: crows; means also simpletons. 


252 WAR AND PEACE. 


The missiles kept falling with greater and greater frequency 
on the battery. A number of soldiers lay unattended. The 
men around the cannon were working with renewed vigor and. 
zeal. No one any longer paid attention to Pierre. Twice he 
was angrily told that he was in the way. The senior officer, 
with a frowning face, strode with long, swift steps from gun 
to gun. The young officer, with his face more flushed than 
ever, gave his command to his men with ever increasing 
vehemence. The soldiers came and went with the projectiles, 
and loaded and did their duty with ever more zealously burn- 
ing activity and dash. They jumped about as though they 
were moved by springs. 

The thunder-cloud had come close at hand, and brightly on 
all faces burned that fire the kindling of which Pierre had 
been watching. He was standing near the senior officer. The 
young officer came hastening to the elder and saluted him, 
finger at visor. 

‘“T have the honor of reporting, Mr. Colonel, that there are 
only eight shot left. Do you order us to go on?” 

“Grape!” cried the old officer, gazing over the rampart, and 
not giving any definite answer. 

Suddenly something happened: the little officer shrieked, 
and fell upon the ground all of a heap, like a bird shot on the 
wing. Everything became strange, dark, and gloomy in 
Pierre’s eyes. f 

One following another the projectiles came screaming, and 
buried themselves in the breastwork, among the soldiers, 
among the cannon. Pierre, who before had not heard these 
sounds, now heard nothing except these sounds. At one side, 
at the right of the battery, with their cheers — hurrah! the 
soldiers were running, not forward as it seemed to Pierre, but _ 
back to the rear. 

A shot struck on the very edge of the rampart where Pierre 
was standing, scattered the earth, and a black ball flashed in 
front of his eyes and at the same instant fell with a dull thud” 
into something. The landwehr, who had been coming up to- 
the battery, were in full retreat. 

“ All grape!” cried the officer. ii 

The sergeant hastened up to his senior, and in a frightened _ 
whisper — just as at dinner the butler reports to his master 
that the wine called for is all out—vreported that all the’ 
ammunition was used up. ii 

“The villains! what are they doing?” eried the officer, | 
turning round to Pierre. The old officer’s face was flushed 











ee 





WAR AND PEACE. 953 


nd sweaty, his eyes were gleaming fiercely. “Run back to 
he reserves, have the caissons brought,” he cried, crossly avoid- 
ag Pierre’s glance and addressing his command to his orderly. 

«1 will go,” cried Pierre. The officer, not heeding him, 
rent with long strides to the other side. | 
“Don’t fire !— Wait!” he shouted. 

The orderly who had been commanded to go after ammuni- 
ion ran into Pierre. 

«kh! barin, this is no place for you here,” said he, and he 
tarted on the run down the slope. 

Pierre ran after the soldier, avoiding the place where the 
‘oung officer lay. 

One shot, a second, a third flew over his head; they struck 

a front of him, on both sides of him, and behind him. Pierre 
an down the slope. “Where am I going?” He suddenly 
emembered, even while he was hastening up to the green 
aissons. He stopped irresolutely, undecided whether to go 
orward or back. Suddenly a terrible shock threw him back 
m the ground. At the same instant a sheet of a mighty fire 
lashed into his eyes, and at the same instant a noise like a 
hunder-clap, stunning and terrific, a crash and a whiz, over- 
vhelmed him. 
Pierre, having recovered his senses, sat up, supporting him- 
elf on his hands. The caisson near which he had been 
tanding had disappeared; only on the scorched grass were 
jeattered a few pieces of the green painted wood of the car- 
‘jage, and smoking rags; and one horse, shaking off the frag- 
nents of the shafts, was galloping off, while another — lke 
Yierre himself — was lying on the ground, and screaming in 
ts long agony. 


CHAPTER. XXXII. 


Pirree, in his terror, not knowing what he was doing, sprang 
o his feet and ran back to the battery, as though it were the 
only refuge from the horrors surrounding him. 

When he reached the intrenchment, he observed that there 
was no sound of firing any longer from the battery, but that 
‘men were engaged in doing something there. Pierre had no 
sime to make out who these men were. He saw the old 
olonel leaning over the breastwork, with his back to him, as 
shough he were watching something below, and he saw one of 
the artillerists, whom he had already observed, struggling to 


} 
: 
, 
: 


954 WAR AND PEACR. 


get away from some men who had him by the arm, and erying 
“Brothers! Brothers!” 

He also saw something else that was strange. But he had 
no time to realize that the colonel was killed, and that the 
man was crying for help, and that under his very eyes a 
second soldier was stabbed in the back by a bayonet thrust. 
He had hardly set foot in the intrenchment before a lean, 
sallow, sweaty-faced man, with a sword in his hand, leaped 
upon him, shouting something. Pierre instinctively avoided 
the shock, as men do who are about to run into each other. 
and, putting out his hand, he seized this man —he was a, 
French officer —by the shoulder with one hand and grasped 
his throat with the other. The officer, dropping his sword, 
seized Pierre by the collar. 

For some seconds they each gazed with startled eyes into 
each other’s faces, and both were uncertain as to what they 
had done and what they were going to do. “Has he taken 
me prisoner, or have I taken him prisoner?” each of them 
was wondering. But apparently the French officer was rather 
inclined to believe that he was taken prisoner, for the reason 
that Pierre’s powerful hand, involuntarily clinching under the 
‘Influence of fear, was squeezing his throat ever tighter and 
tighter. The Frenchman was just trying to say something, 
when suddenly over their very heads, narrowly missing them 
and terribly screeching, flew a projectile, and it seemed to 
Pierre that the French officer’s head was torn off, so quickly 
he ducked it. 

Pierre also ducked his head, and released his hand. No 
longer puzzling over the question which had taken the other 
prisoner, the Frenchman ran back to the battery, while Pierre 
ran down the hill, stumbling over the dead and wounded, who, 
it seemed to him, grasped after his feet. But he had not 
more than reached the bottom before he came full upon a 
dense mass of Russian soldiers, who, stumbling and falling 
and cheering, full of dash and spirit, were on the double-quick | 
toward the battery. 

This was the charge for which Yermolof took the credit, — 
declaring that only by his gallantry and good fortune was it 
possible to have achieved this success: the charge during 
which one might say he scattered over the kurgan the St. 
George crosses that had been in his pockets. 

The French who had taken the battery fled. Our troops, 
with cheers, drove the French so far beyond the battery that 
it was hard to bring them to a halt. 





WAR AND PEACE. 255 


The prisoners were led away from the battery, in their num- 
ber a wounded French general, around whom the officers 
erowded. 

A throng of wounded, Russians and French, some of them 
known and many unknown to Pierre, their faces distorted with 
agony, crawled or limped, or were carried away on stretchers. 

Pierre went up on the kurgan again, where he had spent 
more than an hour already, and of that little “family circle,” 
which had, as it were, adopted him, he found not one. There 
were many dead lying there, but they were strangers. Some 
hhe recognized. The young officer was lying, all in a heap, as 
before, in a little pool of blood at the edge of the parapet. 
The rubicund soldier was twitching a little, but they had not 
carried him away. 

_ Pierre went back again. 

“No, now they must surely put an end to this; now they 

must begin to feel remorse for what they have been doing,” 
thought Pierre, aimlessly taking the same direction as the 
line of litters that was slowly moving from the battle-field. 
_ But the sun, obscured by smoke, was still high in the 
heavens, and at the front, and especially at the left at Seme- 
novskoye, there was a great commotion in the smoke, and the 
thunder of guns and cannon not only did not slacken, but 
rather increased, even to desperation, like a man who, perish- 
ing, collects his forces to utter one last cry. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 


Tue principal action in the battle of Borodino took place on 
‘a space of a thousand sazhens,* between Borodino and Bagra- 
tion’s earthworks. 
Outside of this space there had occurred, about noon, on 
‘one side, a demonstration on the part of Uvarof’s Russian 
cavalry ; on the other, beyond Utitsa, the skirmish between 
Poniatowski and Tutchkof had taken place; but these were 
‘two distinct engagements and insignificant in comparison with 
what went on in the middle of the battle-field. 
On this field, between Borodino and the fleches, near the 
forest, on an open tract visible from both sides, the principal 
action of the battle was fought in the simplest, most artless 
‘manner imaginable. 


* A sazhen is seyen feet ; five hundred sazhens make a verst, 


256 WAR AND PEACE. 


The action began with a cannonade from both sides, from 
several hundred cannon. ; 

Then, when the smoke had settled down on the whole field, 
forward through it, on the side of the French, at the right, 
moved the two divisions of Dessaix and Campan against the 
earthworks, and at the left moved the viceroy’s regiments 
against Borodino. 

From the Shevardino redoubt, where Napoleon had taken 
up his position, the distance to Bagration’s fleches was about 
a verst, while Borodino was upwards of two versts distant in 
a bee-line, and, consequently, Napoleon could not have seen 
what was going on there, the.more from the fact that the 
smoke, mingling with the mist, covered the whole locality. 

The soldiers of Dessaix’s division, as they moved against the 
fleches, were visible only until they began to descend the 
ravine which separated them from the earthworks. As soon 
as they descended into the ravine, the smoke of the cannon 
and musketry from the earthworks was so dense that it wholly 
curtained off everything on the farther side of the ravine. 

Through the wrack, here and there, gleamed some black 
object, apparently a body of men, and from time to time the 
glittering of bayonets. But whether they were moving or 
standing still, whether they were French or Russians, it was 
impossible to distinguish from the Shevardino redoubt. 

The sun came out bright, and shone with its slanting rays 
full into Napoleon’s face, as he looked from under the shade 
of his hand toward the fleches. 

The smoke hung like a curtain in front of them, and some- 
times it seemed as though the smoke were in motion, some- 
times as though the troops were in motion. Occasionally, 
above the noise of the musketry, the shouts of men could be 
heard; but it was impossible to know what they were doing. 

Napoleon, standing on the knoll, gazed through his field- 
glass, and in the small cirelet of the instrument he could see 
smoke and men, sometimes his own, sometimes Russians; but 
when he came to use his naked eye, he could not find even 
where he had been looking but the moment before. 

He went down from the redoubt, and began to pace back 
and forth in front of it. Occasionally he paused and listened 
to the firing, or strained his sight to see the battle-field. Not 
only from that lower ground where he was standing, not only 
from the mound on which some of his generals were left, but 
likewise from the fleches themselves, where, now together and 
now alternately, Russians and French were in the fore, crowded 


\ 


WAR AND PEACE. 207 


with soldiers, dead and wounded, panic-stricken or frenzied, 
vas it impossible to make out what was going on in that place. 

For several hours, amid the incessant firing of musketry 
ind cannon, now the Russians appeared in the ascendant, and 
iow the French; now the infantry, and now the cayalry; 
they showed themselves, they fell, they fired, they struggled 
yand to hand; not knowing what they were doing to each 
ther, they shouted and they retreated. 

_ Napoleon’s aides and his marshals’ orderlies kept galloping 
ip from the battle-field with reports as to the progress of 
iftairs; but all these reports were false for the reason that, 
n the heat of the engagement, it was impossible to say what 
vas taking place at a given moment, and for the reason that 
nany of the aides did not reach the actual place of conflict, 
wut reported what they had heard from others; and again for 
he reason that, while any aide was traversing the two or 
hree versts which separated his starting-point from Napo- 
eon, circumstances must have changed, and the tidings have 
yecome false. 

_ Thus the viceroy sent an aide post-haste with the tidings 
hat Borodino had been captured and the bridge over the 
Xalotcha was in the hands of the French. The aide asked 
Vapoleon whether he would command the troops to make a 
lank movement. 

Napoleon commanded them to be drawn up into line on the 
ther side of the river and to wait, but at the time when 
Napoleon issued this command—nay more, even before the 
ide had fairly left Borodino — the bridge was recaptured and 
murned by the Russians, —in fact, during that very skirmish 
n which Pierre had participated at the beginning of - the 
rattle. 

Another aide, galloping up from the fleches with frightened 
‘ace, reported to Napoleon that the charge had been repulsed, 
md that Campan was wounded and Davoust killed; but, in 
eality, the fleches had been recaptured by another division 
if the troops at the very moment that the aide was told that 
he French were defeated, and Davoust was alive and only 
lightly contused. 

Drawing his own conclusions from such unavoidably false 
eports, Napoleon made his dispositions, which either were 
‘lready fulfilled before he had made them, or else could not 
oe, and never were, fulfilled. 

The marshals and generals, who were at closer touch with 
he battle-field, but who, nevertheless, just like Napoleon, did 

VOL. 3. —17. 


258 WAR AND PEACE. 


not actually take part in the battle itself, and only rarely 
came actually under fire, did not ask Napoleon, but made 
their dispositions, and gave their orders as to where anc 
whence to fire, and when to have the cavalry charge and 
the infantry take*to the double-quick. 

But even their dispositions, exactly like Napoleon’s, were 
only in small measure and rarely carried out. For the most 
part, exactly the opposite happened to what they enjoined. 
Soldiers commanded to advance would fall under a fire of 
grape and retreat; soldiers commanded to hold their ground, 
suddenly seeing an unexpected body of Russians coming down. 
upon them, would sometimes rush on to meet them, and the 
cavalry without orders would gallop off to cut down the fleeing 
Russians. 

Thus two regiments of cavalry dashed down through the 
ravine of Semenovskoye, and as soon as they reached the hill 
top they faced about and galloped back at breakneck speed. 

In the same way, the infantry soldiers oftentimes went fly- 
ing about in entirely different directions from what they 
were ordered to go. 

All dispositions as to where and when cannon were to be 
unlimbered, when the infantry were to be sent forward, when 
to fire, when the cavalry were to hammer down the Russian 
infantry, —all these dispositions were made on their own 
responsibility by the subordinate heads who were close at 
hand, in the ranks, and they did not stop to consult either 
with Ney or Davoust or Murat, and certainly not with Napo- 
leon. They had no fear of their commands not being carried 
out, or of issuing arbitrary orders, because in a battle the 
issue at stake is man’s most precious possession —his own 
life, and often it seems that his safety lies in retreating, often 
in advancing at the double-quick, and on the issue of a 
moment these men must act who are found in the very tuick 
of the battle. ) 

In reality, all these movements back and forth did not 
relieve and did not change the positions of the troops. Al 
their collisions and charges, one against the other, produced 
very little injury, but the injuries, the deaths, and the mutila 
tions were brought by the projectiles and shots which were 
flying in all directions over that space where these men were 
pelting each other. As soon as these men left that space 
where the shot and shell were flying, then immediately their 
nachalniks, stationed in the rear, would bring them into order 
again, subject them to discipline, and, under the influence of) 


WAR AND PEACE. | 259° 


this discipline, lead them back to the domain of the projec- 
‘ules, where again under the influence of the fear of death they 
would lose their discipline and become subject to whatever 
lisposition was paramount in the throng. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


NAPOLEON’s generals, — Davoust, Ney, and Murat, — finding 
ihemselves near to this domain of fire, and sometimes even 
‘aiding up into it, more than once led ‘into this domain of fire 
snormous and well-ordered masses of troops. But, contrary 
jo what had invariably happened in all their former engage- 
nents, instead of the expected report that the enemy were 
leeing, these well-ordered masses of troops returhed thence 
n disorderly, panic-stricken throngs. 

Then again they would collect them, but each time in 

liminished numbers. In the afternoon Murat sent his aide 
30 Napoleon for re-enforcements. 
_ Napoleon was sitting at the foot of the mound, drinking 
ounch, when Murat’s aide-de- -camp came galloping up with the 
‘report that the Russians would be defeated if his majesty 
would send one more division. 

“ Re-enforcements ?” exclaimed Napoleon, in grim amaze- 
nent, as though not realizing the meaning of his words, and 
ooking at the handsome young aide, who wore his dark hair in 
ong curls just as Murat wore his. “ Re-enforcements !” mut- 
ered Napoleon. “How can they ask for re-enforcements 
when they already have in their hands half of the army to 
hrow against the weak, unfortified Russian flank! ‘Tell the 
King of Naples,” said Napoleon, sternly, “tell the King of 
Naples that it is not noon, and that I do not yet see clearly 
m my chess-board.— Go!” * 

The handsome young aide-de-camp with the long hair, not 
‘removing his hand from his hat, drew a heavy sigh and gal- 
oped back again to the place where they were slaughtering 
nen. 

Napoleon got up, and, calling Caulaincourt and Berthier, 
xegan to discuss with them concerning matters that had noth- 
ng to do with the battle. 

In the midst of this conversation which began to engross 
Napoleon, Berthier’s eyes were attracted to a general with 


* Dites au roi de Naples qu’il n’est pas ets et que je ne vois pas encore 
lair sur mon échiquier. — Allez ! 


260 WAR AND PEACE. 


his suite who came galloping up to the kurgan on a sweaty 
horse. 

This was Belliard. Throwing himself from his horse, he 
approached the emperor with swift strides, and boldly, in a 
joud voice, began to show forth the imperative necessity of 
re-enforcements. 

He swore on his honor that the Russians were beaten 1 
the emperor would only give them one division more. 

Napoleon shrugged his shoulders, and, without making any 
reply, proceeded with his promenade. Belliard began to talk 
loud and earnestly with the generals of the suite gathered 
round him. 

“You are very hot-headed, Belliard,” exclaimed Napoleon, 
again approaching the general. “Tt is easy to make a mis- 
take in the thick of battle. Go back and look again and then 
return to me.” 

Hardly had Belliard time to disappear from sight when, 
from the other side, a new messenger came hastening up from 
the battle-field. “ Well, what 1s it ?”” demanded Napoleon, in 
the tone of a man annoyed by importunate difficulties. 

“ Sire, le prince” — began the aide-de-camp. 

“Wants re-enforcements ?” said Napoleon, with a furious 
gesture, taking the words out of his mouth. The aide-de- 
camp bowed his head affirmatively, and began to make his 
report; but the emperor turned away, took a couple of steps, 
paused, turned back, and addressed Berthier. 

“We must give them the reserves,” said he, slightly throw- 
ing open his hands. “Which shall we send, think you,” he 
asked, addressing Berthier, “that gosling whieh I made into 
an eagle—oison que jai fait aigle?” —as he- was of late in 
the habit of expressing it. 

“Sire, send Claparede’s division,” sap dbseat Berthier, who 
knew by heart every division, regiment, and battalion. 

Napoleon nodded approval. 

The aide-de-camp dashed off to Claparede’s division, and, 
within a few minutes, the Young Guard, who were drawn up 
back of the kurgaén, were on the way. Napoleon looked on ? 
silence at this movement. 

“No,” he eried, suddenly turning to Berthier, “I canni 
send Claparéde. Send Friant’s division, ” said he. 

Although there was no choice whereby it was better to send 
Friant’s division rather than Claparede’s, and the delay of 
recalling Claparede and sending Friant was even on its face 
disadvantageous, still this order was carried out to the letter 








WAR AND PEACE. 261 


i 
Japoleon did not see that in thus treating his forces he was 


‘laying the part of a doctor who by his very remedies hinders 
‘ecovery —a part which he thoroughly appreciated and criti- 
ised. 

. Friant’s division, like the others, also vanished in the smoke 
hat hung over the battle-field. From all sides aides kept gal- 
‘oping up with reports, and all, as though from previous agree- 
aent, had one and the same story to tell. All demanded 
-e-enforcements, all declared that the Russians were holding 
jesperately to their positions and that they were returning an 
vofernal fire—wn few d’enfer — under which the French troops 
vere fairly melting away. 

| Napoleon, in deep thought, sat down on a camp-chair. 

i M. de Beausset, who was so fond of travelling, and had been 
‘asting since early morning, came up to the emperor, and per- 
‘aitted himself the boldness of respectfully proposing to his 
‘aajesty to eat some breakfast. 

_ “T hope that I am not premature in congratulating your 
‘aajesty on a victory,” said he. 

' Napoleon silently shook his head. M. de Beausset, taking 
t for granted that this negation was a disclaimer of victory 
‘nd did not refer to breakfast, permitted himself in a play- 
ully respectful manner to remark that there was no reason on 
‘arth why they should not have some breakfast when they 
sould have some. 

“ Allez vous” — suddenly cried Napoleon gruffly, and turned 
tis back on him. A beatific smile of pity, regret, and enthu- 
jasm irradiated M. Beausset’s face, and with a swaggering 
‘tep he rejoined the other generals. 

Napoleon was under the sway of a gloomy feeling like that 
‘xperienced by a universally fortunate gamester, who has 
-enselessly staked his money because he was always sure of 
vinning, and suddenly, just at the time when he has calcu- 
ated all the chances of the game, is brought to the knowledge 
hat the more he puzzles over its course, the more surely he 1s 
osing. 
: The troops were the same, the generals the same, the prep: 
wations were the same, the same dispositions, the same pro- 
‘lamation courte et énergique; he himself was the same, — he 
mew it; he knew that he was vastly better in experience and 
kill than he had ever been before; even the enemy were the 
same as at Austerlitz and Friedland, but the terrible, crushing 
low of the hand fell powerless as though magic interfered. 

» All those former measures which had been invariably 


yi 








262 WAR AND PEACE. 


crowned with success —the concentration of all the batterie; 
on one spot, and the attack of the reserves for crushing th: 
lines, and the charge of the cavalry — ses hommes de Jer, —al 
these measures were employed, and not only there was n¢ 
victory, but from all sides the same stories about generals 
killed and wounded, about the necessity of re-enforcements 
about the impossibility of defeating the Russians, and about 
the demoralization of the troops. : 

Hitherto, after two or three moves, two or three hasty or 
ders, marshals and aides-de-camp would come galloping uy 
with congratulations and joyous faces, announcing whole corps 
of prisoners as trophies, des faisceaux de drapeaua et d’aigles 
_ennemis — sheaves of standards and eagles taken from the foc 
and cannon, and provision trains; and Murat would only 
ask for permission to let the cavalry set forth to gather in the 
booty. This was the case at Lodi, Marengo, Arcole, Jena, 
Austerlitz, Wagram, and so on, and so on. But now, some: 
thing strange had happened to his warriors! 

Notwithstanding the report that the fleches had been cap: 
tured, Napoleon saw that this success was different, entirely 
different from what had been the ease in all his other battles, 
He saw that the feeling which he experienced was also expe: 
rienced by all the men around him, who were familiar with 
military affairs. All faces were gloomy, all eyes were averted. 
Beausset alone failed to understand the significance of what 
was happening. 

Napoleon, after his long experience of war, well knew what 
it meant that, after eight hours’ steady fighting, after the ex- 
penditure of such efforts, victory had not crowned the attack. 
ing columns. He knew that it was almost a defeat, and that 
the slightest mischance might now, at this critical point on 
which the battle was balancing, ruin him and his army. | 

When he passed in review all this strange Russian cam- 
paign, in which not one victory had been won, —1n which, for 
two months, not a standard, not a cannon, not a squad of men 
had been captured; when he looked at the openly dejected 
faces of those around him, and heard the reports that the 
Russians still stood their’ ground, —a terrible feeling, like that 
experienced in nightmares, seized him, and all the unfor- 
tunate circumstances that might ruin him came into his mind. 

The Russians might fall upon his left wing, might break 
through his centre, a wanton projectile might even kill him- 
self! All this was possible. In his previous battles, he con : 
sidered only the chances of success; now, an infinite number 








WAR AND PEACE. — 263 


£ possible mischances rose up before him, and he expected 
nemall. Yes, this was just as inadream, when a man imagines 
iat a murderer is attacking him, and the man, in his dream, 
randishes his arms, and strikes his assailant with that tre- 
iendous force which he knows must annihilate him, and then 
sels that his arm falls weak and limp as a rag, and the hor- 
or of inevitable destruction, because he is helpless, seizes 
im. 

The report that the Russians were really charging the left 
ank of the French army awoke in Napoleon this horror. 
fe sat in silence at the foot of the mound, on his camp-chair, 
ith his head bent, and his elbows on his knees. Berthier 
ame to him, and proposed to him to ride around the line, so 
s to assure himself how affairs really stood. 

«What? What did you say?” asked Napoleon. “ Yes, 
ave my horse brought.” 

He mounted, and rode toward Semenovskoye. In the 
lowly dissipating gunpowder smoke that spread all over this 
pace where Napoleon was riding, in the pools of blood lay 
orses and men, singly and in heaps. Such a horror, such a 
ollection of slaughtered men, neither Napoleon nor any of his 
‘enerals had ever seen on so small a space. The thunder of 
he cannon, which had not ceased rolling for ten hours, and 
iad become a torment to the ear, gave a peculiar significance 
0 this spectacle (like music to tableaux-vivants). 

‘Napoleon rode to the height over Semenovskoye, and 
hrough the smoke he could see ranks of men in uniforms 
those colors were unfamiliar to his eyes. They were the 
vussians. 

The Russians, in dense rows, were posted behind Semenov- 
koye and the kurgaén, and their cannon, all along the line, 
rere incessantly roaring, and filling the air with smoke. This 
vas not a battle. It was wholesale butchery, incapable of 
ringing any advantage to either the Russians or the French. 
Napoleon reined in his horse, and again fell into that 
wown study from which Berthier had aroused him. He 
‘ould not put an end to this affair which was going on in 
‘ront of him and around him, and which seemed to have been 
egulated by him, and to have been contingent upon his fiat; 
‘nd this affair, in consequence of this his first failure, for the 
irst time, made him realize all its uselessness and horror. 

' One of the generals who came galloping up to Napoleon 
vermitted himself to propose that the Old Guard should be 
‘ent into the battle. Ney and Berthier, who were standing 


F 


264 WAR AND PEACE. 


near Napoleon, exchanged glances, and smiled scornfully ai 
this general’s senseless proposal. 

Napoleon let his head sink on his breast, and was lon; 
silent. . 

“A huit cent liewx de France, je ne ferai pas démolir mi 
garde |! — We are eight hundred leagues from France, and | 
will not have my guard destroyed!” said he; and, turning 
his horse, he rode back to Shevardino. 


CHAPTER XXXV. 


Kutuzor, with his gray head sunk down, and his heavy 
body sprawled out on a rug-covered bench, was sitting in the 
same place where Pierre had seen him that morning. He 
gave no definite orders, but merely approved or disapproved 
of what was reported to him. 

“Yes, yes, do so,” he would answer to the various sugges. 
tions. “Yes, yes, go, my dear, go and see!” he would say 
to this one or that of those near him; or, “No, it is not 
necessary, we would better wait,” he would say. He would 
listen to the reports brought to him, give his commands 
when this was considered necessary by his subordinates; but 
even while he was listening to what was said to him, he was 
apparently not interested in the sense of the words so mueli 
as in the expression of the faces, in the tone of voice of those 
who brought the reports. Long experience in war had taught 
him, and his years of discretion had made him realize, that it 
was impossible for one man to direct a hundred thousand men 
engaged in a death struggle, and he knew that the issue of a 
battle is determined not by the plans of the commander-in- 
chief, not by the place where the troops are stationed, not by 
the number of the cannon or the multitude of the slain, but 
by that imponderable force called the spirit of the army} 
and he made use of this force, and directed it, so far as it was 
in his power. 

The general expression of Kutuzof’s face was one of con- 
centrated attention and energy, scarcely able to overcome the 
weariness of his old and feeble frame. 

At eleven o’clock in the morning, he was informed that the 
fleches captured by the French had been retaken, but that 
Prince Bagration was wounded. Kutuzof groaned, and shook 
his head. a 

“Go to Prince Piotr Ivanovitch, and learn the particulars, 


WAR AND PEACE. 265 


that and how,” said he to one of his adjutants; and immedi- 
tely after he turned to the Prince of Wiirttemberg, who was 
janding just back of him. 

“Would not your highness take command of the first 
ivision ?” 

Soon after the prince’s departure, so soon, in fact, that he 
yuld not have reached Semenovskoye, the prince’s aide came 
ack, and informed his serene highness that the prince wished 
iore troops. 
“Kutuzof frowned, and sent word to Dokhturof to take com- 
and of the first division, and begged the prince to return to 
im, as, so he said, he could not do without him at this 
aportant crisis. 

When the report was brought that Murat was taken pris- 
aer, and the staff hastened to congratulate Kutuzof, he 
niled. 

“ Wait, gentlemen,” said he. ‘There is nothing extraordi- 
ary in the victory being won, and Murat being a prisoner. 
ut it is best to postpone our elation.” Nevertheless, he sent 
ae of his adjutants to ride along the lines, and announce this 
3ws to the troops. 

When Shcherbinin came spurring up from the left flank to 
‘port that the French had captured the fleches and Seme- 
wskoye, Kutuzof, judging from the sounds on the battle-field 
id by Shcherbinin’s face that he was bringing bad news, got 
9,as though to stretch his legs, and, taking Shcherbinin by 
ie arm, he led him to one side. 

“Go, my dear,’ * said he to Yermolof, “go and see if it is 
apossible to do anything.” 

Kutuzof was at Gorki, the centre of the position of the 
ussian troops. The assaults on our left flank, directed by 
apoleon, had been several times repulsed. At the centre the 
rench had not pushed beyond Borodino. On the right 
varof’s cavalry had put the French to flight. 

At three o’clock the French attack began to slacken in vio- 
nce. On the faces of all who came from the battle-field and 
“all who stood around him, Kutuzof read an expression of 
€ most intense excitement. Kutuzof was satisfied with the 
cess of the day, which surpassed his expectations. But the 
d man’s physical strength began to desert him. Several 
mes his head sank forward, as though out of his control, and 
‘dozed. Something to eat was broug ht to him. 
Fltigel-adjutant Woltzogen, the one who, as he rode past 


* Golubchik. 


266 WAR AND PEACE. 


Prince Andrei, had declared that the war must spread into th¢ 
country —im Raum verlegen,—and whom Bagration so de. 
tested, came riding up while Kutuzof was eating his dinner 
Woltzogen came from Barclay with a report as to the cours¢ 
of affairs on the left wing. ‘The prudent Barclay de Tolly 
seeing the throngs of wounded hastening to the rear, and the 
ragged ranks of the army, and taking all circumstances intc 
consideration, decided that the battle was lost, and sent his 
favorite with this news to the general-in-chief. 

Kutuzof laboriously mumbled a piece of roasted chicken and 
gazed at Woltzogen with squinting, jocose eyes. 

Woltzogen, stretching his legs negligently, with a half-scorn- 
ful smile on his lips, caine to Kutuzof, barely lifting his hand 
to his visor. He behaved to his serene highness with a Ger- 
tain affectation of indifference, which was intended to show 
that he, as a highly cultured military man, permitted the 
Russians to make an idol of this good-for-nothing old man, 
but that he knew with whom he was dealing. “ Der alte Herr’’ 
— “the old gentleman,” as Kutuzof was called by the Ger- 
mans in his circle— “macht sich ganz bequem—is taking 
things very easy,” said Woltzogen to himself, and, casting a 
stern glance at the platter placed in front of Kutuzof, he pro- 
ceeded to report to the old gentleman the position of affairs 
on the left flank, as Barclay had told him to do, and as he 
himself had seen and understood them. 

‘All the points of our position are in the enemy’s hands, 
and we cannot regain them, because we have no troops; they 
are in full retreat, “and there is no possibility of stopping them,” 
was his report. 

Kutuzof, ceasing to chew, stared at Woltzogen in amaze- 
ment, as though not comprehending what was said to him. 

Woltzogen, observing the alter Herr’s excitement, said, with 
a smile, — «J did not feel that it was right to conceal from 
your serene highness what I have been witnessing. The 
troops are wholly demoralized ” — 

“You have seen it? You have seen it?” screamed Ku- 
tuzor, scowling, and leaping to his feet, and swiftly approach- 
ing Woltzogen. ‘ How — how dare you? ’”—and he made a 
threatening gesture with his palsied hands, and, choking, he 
cried: “How dare you, dear sir, say this to me? You know 
nothing about it. Tell General Barclay from me that his ob- 
servations are false, and that the actual course of the battle is 
better known to me, the commander-in-chief, than it is to 
him!”  Woltzogen was about to make some remark, bus 
Kutuzof cut him short; — 





WAR AND PEACE. 267 


“The enemy are beaten on the left and crushed on the right. 
f you saw things wrong, my dear sir, still you should not 
yermit yourself to say what you know nothing about. Be 
food enough to go to General Barclay and tell him that it is 
ny absolute intention to attack the enemy to-morrow,” said 
Cutuzof sternly. 

All was silent, and all that could be heard was the heavy 
reathing of the excited old general. 

“They are beaten all along the line, thank God and the 
allantry of the Russian army for that! The enemy are 
tushed, and to-morrow we will drive them from the sacred 
oil of Russia,” said Kutuzof, crossing himself, and suddenly 
he tears sprang to his eyes and he sobbed. 

Woltzogen, shrugging his shoulders and pursing his lips, 
ilently went to one side, expressing his amazement at the old 
entleman’s conceited stubbornness —iiber diese Eingenom- 
nenheit des alten Herrn. 

“ Ah, here comes my hero,” exclaimed Kutuzof, to a stal- 
vart, handsome, dark-haired general, who at this moment ap- 
roached the kurgan. 

‘This was Rayevsky, who had been:all that day at the criti- 
al point of the field of Borodino. 

Rayevsky reported that the troops were unmoved in their 
ositions, and that the French did not dare to attack them any 
nore. 

On hearing this, Kutuzof said in French, — “Then you do 
ot think, as some others do, that we are forced to withdraw ? ” 

On the contrary, your highness, in drawn battles it is 
ways the stubbornest who can be called victorious,” replied 
xayevsky, — “and my opinion ” —* 

“Kaisarof!” cried Kutuzof, summoning his adjutant. “Sit 
lown and write an order for to-morrow. And you” — he said, 
iddressing another, “hasten down the lines and have them 
inderstand that we attack to-morrow.” 

While Kutuzof was talking with Rayevsky and dictating 
is order of the day, Woltzogen came back from Barclay and 
imnounced that General Barclay de Tolly would like a written 
onfirmation of the order which the field-marshal had delivered 
erm. 

Kutuzof, not looking at Woltzogen, commanded this order 
0 be written, which the former commander-in-chief desired to 


* “ Vous ne per°*z pas donc comme les autres que nous sommes obligés de 
ous retirer ?’’ —** Aw contraire, votre altesse, dans les affaires indécises, c’est 
oujours le plus opiniatre qui reste victorieux — et mon opinion ”? — 


268 WAR AND PEACE. 


od 


have since it completely relieved him of personal responsi: 
bility. 

And by that intangible, mysterious connection which pre 
serves throughout a whole army one and the same disposition, 
the so-called esprit du corps, and constitutes the chief sinew oi 
an army, Kutuzof’s words and his order for renewing th¢ 
battle on the following day were known simultaneously fron 
one end of the force to the other. : 

The exact words or the absolute form of the order were not 
indeed carried to the utmost limits of this organization; in 
the stories which were repeated in the widely separated ends 
of the lines there was very likely nothing hke what Kutuzof 
really said; but the gist of his words was conveyed every: 
where, for the reason that what Kutuzof said sprang not from 
logical reasoning, but was the genuine outcome of the senti- 
ment that was in the heart of the commander-in-chief, find- 
ing a response in the heart of every Russian. 

And when they knew that on the next day they were going 
to attack the enemy, and heard from the upper circles of the 
army the confirmation of what they wished to believe, these 
men, tortured by doubt, were comforted and encouraged. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 


Prince ANDREI’S regiment was among the reserves, whichi 
had been stationed until two o’clock behind Semenovskoye, 
doing nothing under the severe fire of the artillery. At two 
o’clock, the regiment, which had already lost more than two 
hundred men, was moved forward upon the trampled field of 
oats, on that space between Semenovskoye and the “Kurgan” 
battery, whereon thousands of men were killed that day, and 
toward which was now concentrated a tremendous fire, from 
several hundreds of the enemy’s guns. 

Without stirring from that spot, and not themselves reply- 
ing with a single shot, the regiment lost here two-thirds of its 
effective. In front and especially at the right-hand side, 
amid the perpetual smoke, the cannons were booming,* and 
from that mysterious domain of smoke which shrouded all 
the space in front constantly fiew the hissing and swiftly 
screaming projectiles, and the more deliberately sputtering 
shells. Sometimes, as though to give arespite, a quarter-hour 
would pass during which all the shot and shells would fly 


* Bubukhali. pe 





WAR AND PEACE. 269 


werhead, but then, again, several men would be struck down 
n the course of a moment, and they were constantly engaged 
n dragging the dead to one side, and carrying the wounded 
0 the rear. 

"With each new casualty the chances of life were diminished 
for those who were as yet unscathed. The regiment was 
josted in battalion columns at intervals of three hundred paces, 
jut, nevertheless, all the men were swayed by one and the 
ame impulse. All the men of the regiment were without 
ixeeption silent and melancholy. Once in a while a few 
yords were spoken in the ranks, but this conversation was 
ways abruptly cut short each time when the thud of the 
‘alling missile was heard, and the ery of “Stretchers!” 

The larger part of the time, the men of the regiment, by 
heir chief’s orders, lay low on the ground. Qne man, having 
aken off his shako, was assiduously untying and again tying 
ip the strings; another, with dry clay fashioned into a ball 
this palms, was polishing up his bayonet; another had taken 
off the strap and was buckling his bandolier ; still another was 
varefully untwisting his leg-wrappers and tying them on 
gain, and changing his shoes. 

Some dug shelters out of the ploughed land, or plaited 
vattles out of the stubble straw. All seemed entirely absorbed 
n their occupations. When any of them were killed or 
vounded, when the litters were brought into requisition, when 
mur men were forced back, when the smoke opened a little 
ind disclosed great masses of the enemy, no one paid any 
attention to these circumstances. 

When, though, the artillery or the cavalry were moved for- 
ward, or our infantry could be seen executing some manceuvre, 
Approving remarks were heard on all sides. But the most 
attention was excited by incidents entirely extraneous, which 
had absolutely no relation to the battle. It would seem as 
though the attention of these morally exhausted men were 
telieved by the contemplation of the events of every-day life. 
__A battery of artillery passed in front of the regiment. The 
off horse attached to one of the caissons got entangled*in the 
sraces. 

“Hey ! look out for your off horse!” —“ Take care! He'll be 
Jown!” —“Ekh! Haven’t they any eyes?” Such were the 
temarks shouted all along the line. 

| Another time, general attention. was attracted by a small 
ainnamon-colored puppy which, with its tail stiffly erect, came 
from God knows where, and went flying at a desperate pace 
in front of the ranks, and, frightened by the sudden plunge of 


270 WAR AND PEACE. 


4 
a round shot which fell near it, set up a yelp, and sprang to 
one side with its tail between its legs. A roar of laughter 
and shouts ran along the line. 

But diversions of this sort lasted only for a few minutes, 
while the men had been standing there for more than eight 
hours, without food, and inactive, under that ceaseless horror'o 
death, and their pallid and anxious faces grew ever more pallid 
and more anxious. 

Prince Andrei, like all the other men in his regiment anx- 
ious and pallid, paced back and forth along the meadow, next 
the oat-field, from one end to the other, with his arms behind 
his back, and with bent head. There was nothing for him to 
do or to order. Everything went like clockwork. The dead 
were dragged to one side, away from the front; the wounded 
were carried to the rear; the ranks were closed up. If the 
soldiers stood aside, they instantly hastened back to their 
places again. 

At first Prince Andrei, considering it incumbent upon him 
to encourage his men and to set them an example of gallantry, 
kept walking up and down along the ranks; but afterwards 
he became convinced that they had nothing to learn from 
him. The whole energies of his soul, like those of every one 
of the soldiers, were unconsciously bent on avoiding the hor. 
rors of their situation. ; 

He marched along the meadow, dragging his feet, trampling 
down the grass and contemplating the dust that covered his 
boots; then again with long strides he would try to step from 
ridge to ridge left by the mowers’ scythes along the meadow; 
or, counting his steps, he would caleulate how many times he 
must go from one boundary to the other in order to make a 
verst. He would pluck up the wormwood growing on the 
edge of the field, and rub the flowers between -his palms, and. 
sniff the powerful, penetrating bitter of their odor. 

Nothing remained of the fabric of thought which he had so 
painfully elaborated the evening before. He thought of noth- 
ing-at all. He listened with weary ears to that perpetual repe- 
tition of sounds, distinguishing the whistling of the missiles 
‘above the roar of the musketry, He gazed at the indifferent 
faces of the men in the first battalion, and waited. 

“Here she comes !— That’s one for us,” he would say to | 
himself as he caught the approaching screech of something 
from that hidden realm of smoke. “One, a second! There’s 
another! It struck!” 

He paused, and looked along the ranks. “No, it went over 
Ah! but that one struck!” 





WAR AND PEACE. 271 


And once more he would take up his promenade, trying to 
measure long steps, so as to reach the boundary in sixteen 
| strides. . 

, A sereech, anda thud! Within half a dozen steps from him 
.a projectile flung up the dry soil and buried itself. An involun- 
,tary chill ran down his back. Once more he looked along the 
‘ranks: evidently many had been struck down; a great crowd 
'had come together in the second battalion. 

| “Mr. Adjutant,” he cried, “tell those men not to stand so 
close together.” 

' The adjutant, having fulfilled the command, returned. to 
|Prince Andrei. From the other side the battalion commander 
}rode up on horseback. 

- “Look out!” cried a soldier in a terrified voice; and like a 
‘bird rustling in its swift flight and settling earthward, a shell 
came plunging down, not noisily, within two paces of Prince 
Andrei, and near the battalion commander’s horse. 

| The horse, not pausing to consider whether it were well or 
ill to manifest fear, snorted, shied, and, almost unseating the 
|major, darted off. The horse’s panic was shared by the men. 
4“Lie down!” cried the adjutant, throwing himself on the 
, ground. 

Prince Andrei stood undecided. The shell, with its fuse 
/ smoking, was spinning like a top between him and the adju- 
tant, on the very edge between the ploughed land and the 
meadow, near the clump of wormwood. 

“Can this be death?” wondered Prince Andrei, casting a 
| fleeting glance full of a newly born envy at the grass, the 
, wormwood, and the thread of, smoke that escaped from the 
| whirling black ball. “I cannot, I will not die; I love life, I 
, love this grass, the earth, the air” — 

, All this flashed through his mind, and at the same time he 

remembered that they were looking at him. “ For shame, Mr. 

Officer !” he started to say to the adjutant. “Any ” — 

| He did not finish. There came simultaneously a crash, a 
. whizzing of fragments, as of broken glass, a powerful odor 
of gunpowder smoke, and Prince Andrei was struck in the 
, Side, and, throwing his arms up, he fell on his face. 

Several officers hastened to him. From the right side of 
, his abdomen a great gush of blood stained the grass. 

. The infantry who acted as bearers came up with their 
, Stretchers, and stood behind the officers. Prince Andrei lay 
| with his face buried in the grass, gasping painfully, 

? 


“Now, then, why loiter ? come on!” 
























1 


212 WAR AND PEACE. 


The muzhiks came close and lifted him by the shoulders 
and legs; but he groaned piteously, and the men, exchanging 
glances, laid him down again. : 

“Bear a hand there! Up with him! it’s all the same!” 
cried some one’s voice. Once more they took him by the 
shoulders, and laid him on the stretcher. : 

“Ah! my God! my God! What ?”—“In the belly ?: 
That finishes him!” — “Akh! Bozhe moi!” exclaimed various 
officers. 

“Na! a fragment whizzed past my ear,” said the adjutant. — 

The muzhiks, lifting the stretcher to their shoulders, has- 
tily directed their steps along the path that they had already 
worn toward the “ bandaging-point.” 

“ Fall into step !— Oh! you men!” cried an officer, halting 
the muzhiks, who were walking out of step and jolting the 
stretcher. “In step there, can’t you, Khveodor, — now, then, 
Khveodor! exclaimed the front muzhik. : 

“Now that’s the way!” cheerfully replied the rear one, 
falling into step. : 

“ Your illustriousness — prince!” said Timokhin in a trem-, 
bling voice, as he came up and looked at the stretcher. | 

Prince Andrei opened his eyes, and looked out from the 
stretcher in which his head was sunken, and when he saw who 
spoke, he again shut them. : 











The militia-men carried Prince Andrei to the forest, where 
the wagons were sheltered, and where the field lazaret had 
been established. This field lazaret, or bandaging-place, con- 
sisted of three tents with upturned flaps, pitched on the edge 
of the birch grove. Within the grove the wagons and horses 
were corralled. The horses were munching oats in haversacks, 
and the sparrows were pouncing down and carrying off the 
scattered grains; crows, scenting blood, and impatiently caw- 
ing, were flying about over the tree-tops. 

Around the tents, occupying more than five acres * of ground, 
lay, and sat, and stood, blood-stained men in various attire. 

Around the wounded stood a throng of stretcher-bearers, 
soldiers, with sad but interested faces, whom the officers, 
attempting to carry out orders, found it impossible to keep 
away. Not heeding the officers, the soldiers stood leaning on 
the stretchers and gazed steadily, as though trying to grasp 
the meaning of the terrible sp<ctacle before their eyes. 

From the tents could be heard loud, fierce sobs, then pitiful. 


* Two desyatins; a desyatin is 2.7 acres, 





WAR AND PEACE. he 


rroans. Occasionally, assistants would come hurrying out 
uter water, and signify the next ones who should be attended 
0. The wounded by the tents waited their turn, hoarsely 
ying, groaning, weeping, screaming, cursing, clamoring for 
vodka. Some were delirious. 

Prince Andrei, as regimental commander, was carried through 
his throng of unbandaged sufferers, close to one of the tents, 
ind there his bearers waited for further orders. He opened 
ais eyes, and it was some time before he could comprehend 
what was going on around him. The meadow, the wormwood, 
the ploughed field, the black whirling ball, and that passionate 
shrob of love for life occurred to his recollection. 

A couple of paces distant from him, talking loudly and 
wtracting general attention, stood a tall, handsome, non-com- 
nissioned officer, with a bandaged head, and leaning against a . 
lead tree. He had been wounded in the head and leg with 
oullets. Around him, attracted by his talk, were gathered a 
shrong of wounded and of stretcher-bearers. - 

“We gave it to him so hot that they dropped everything ; 
shey even left the king,” cried the soldier, snapping his fiery 
olack eyes and glancing around. “If only the reserves had 
been sent up just at that time, I tell you, brother, there would | 
not have been left a show of him, because I am sure ” — 

Prince Andrei, like all the circle gathered around the 
speaker, gazed at him with gleaming eyes, and felt a sense of 
30nsolation. “But what difference does it make to me now?” 
he asked himself. “ What is going to happen, and what does it 
mean ? Why do I have such regret in leaving hfe? What 
was there in this life, which I have not understood, and which 
[ still fail to understand ? ” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 


One of the surgeons, with blood-soaked apron, and with his 
small hands covered with gore, holding a cigar between thumb 
and little finger, so as not to besmear it, came out of the tent.. 
This doctor lifted his head and proceeded to look on all sides, 
out beyond the wounded. He was evidently anxious to get a 
little rest. Having for some time looked toward the right and 
then toward the left, he drew a long sigh and dropped his eyes. 
“Tn a moment now,” said he, in reply to his feldscher, who 
‘zalled his attention to Prince Andrei, and he gave orders for 
aim to be carried into the tent. 


' VoL. 3.— 18. 


274 WAR AND PEACE. 


The throng of wounded who had been waiting was disposed 
to grumble. “In this world it seems only ‘gentlemen’ are 
permitted to live!” exclaimed one. 

Prince Andrei was taken in and deposited on a table whiel 
had only just been vacated. The feldscher was that instant 
engaged in rinsing something from it. Prince Andrei coul 
not distinetly make out what there was in the tent. The piti! 
ful groans on all sides, the excruciating agony in his ribs, his 
belly, and his back, distracted him. AI that he saw aroun 
him was confused for him, in one general impression of naked, 
blood-stained human flesh, filling all the lower part of the 
tent, just as several weeks previously, on that hot August day, 
the same flesh had filled the filthy pond along the Smolensk 
highway. Yes, this was the same flesh, the same chair a canon, 
which even then the sight of, as though prophetic of what he 
now experienced, had filled him with horror. 

There were three tables in this tent. Two were occupied. 
Prince Andrei was laid upon the third. He was left to him. 
self for some little time, and he could not help seeing what 
was doing at the other two tables. On the one nearest lay a 
Tatar, —a Cossack to judge by his uniform, which was thrown 
down beside him. Four soldiers held him down. <A surgeon 
in spectacles was using his knife on his cinnamon-colored, 
muscular back. 

“Ukh! Ukh! Ukh!” —the Tatar grunted like a pig, and, 
suddenly turning up his swarthy face with its wide cheek- 
bones and squat nose, and unsheathing his white teeth, he 
began to tug and to struggle, and set up a long, shrill, pene- 
trating screech. 

On the other table, around which were gathered a number 
of people, a large, stout man lay on his back, with his heal 
thrown back. His streaming hair, its color, and the shape of 
the head seemed strangely familiar to Prince Andrei. 

Several of the assistants were leaning on this man’s chest, 
and holding him down. His large, stout, white leg was sub- 
ject to an incessant and rapid trembling, as though it had the 
ague. This man was convulsively sobbing and choking. Two 
surgeons — one was pale and trembling — were silently doing 
something to this man’s other handsome leg. | 

Having finished with the Tatar, over whom they threw his 
cloak, the spectacled surgeon, wiping his hands, came to Prinee 
Andrei. He looked into Prince Andrei’s face, and hastily 
turned away. | 

“Undress him. What are you dawdling for?” he cried 
severely to his feldschers. 





Ne 
WAR AND PEACE. O75 
' Prince Andrei’s very first and most distant childhood 
ecurred to him, as the feldscher, with hasty hands, began to 
‘ambutton his clothes and remove them. The surgeon bent 
jown low over the wound, probed it, and drew a heavy sigh. 
Then he made a sign to some one. 

The exquisite agony which Prince Andrei felt within his 
|: iubdomen caused him to lose: consciousness. ; 
- When he came to himself, the broken splinters of ribs were 
removed, the torn clots of flesh cut away, and the wound was 
lressed. 
| They were dashing water into his face. As soon as Prince 
‘Andrei opened his eyes, the surgeon bent silently down to 
‘him, kissed him in the lips, and hastened away. 
i After the suffering which he had endured, Prince Andrei 
lwas conscious of a well-being such as he had not experienced 
‘for a long time. | : 
_ All the best and happiest moments of his life, especially 
‘his earliest childhood, when they used to undress him and put 
‘him to bed, when his old nyanya used to lull him to sleep 
with her songs, when, as he buried his head in the pillows, he 
iy felt himself happy in the mere consciousness of being 














alive: all recurred to his imagination, no longer as something 
long past, but as actuality. 

Around that wounded man, whose features seemed familiar 
to Prince Andrei, the doctors were still busy, lifting him, and 
brying to calm him. 

' “Show it to me. . . . Ooooo! 0! Ooooo!” he groaned, his 
voice broken by frightened sobs, subdued by suffering. 
Prince Andrei, hearing these groans, felt like weeping him- 






' 


) : either because he was dying without fame, or because he 


regretted being torn from life, or because of these recollec- 
‘tions of a childhood never to return, or because he sympa- 
| 
) 


‘thized in the sufferings of others, and this man was groaning 
30 piteously before him; but, at any rate, he felt like weep- 
ing good, childlike, almost happy tears. 

‘The wounded man was shown the amputated leg, still in its 
‘boot, which was full of blood. 

QO! OQoooo0!” and he sobbed like a woman. The surgeon, 
‘who had been standing in front of the patient, and prevented 
-his face from being seen, stepped to one side. 

“My God! what does this mean? Why is he here?” 
/ Prince Andrei wondered. . 

In this wretched, sobbing, exhausted man, whose leg had 
only just been taken off, he recognized Anatol Kuragin, They 






276 WAR AND PEACE. 


lifted Anatol’s head, and gave him water in a glass; but hi: 
trembling, swollen lips could not close over the edge of the 
glass. Anatol was still sobbing bitterly. 

“Yes, it is he! yes, this man who has been somehow sc 
closely, so painfully, connected with my life!” said Prine« 
Andrei to himself, not as yet realizing clearly all the circum. 
stances. “What has been the link that connects this man 
with my childhood, with my life?” he asked himself, anc 
could not find the answer to his question. And suddenly z 
new and unexpected remembrance from that world of the 
childlike, pure, and lovely past arose before Prince Andrei 
He recalled Natasha just as he had seen her for the first time 
at the ball, in 1810, with her slender neck and arms, with he 
timid, happy face so easily wakened to enthusiasms, and his 
love and tenderness for her arose more keenly and power. 
fully in his soul than ever before. He remembered now the 
bond which existed between him and this man, who, through 
the tears that suffused his swollen eyes, was gazing at him 
with such an expression of agony. Prince Andrei remembered 
everything, and a solemn pity and love for this man welled up 
in his happy heart. 

Prince Andrei could no longer restrain himself, and he wept 
tears of compassionate love and tenderness over other men 
and over himself, over their errors and his own. 

“Sympathy, love for one’s brothers, for those who love us, 
love for those who hate us, love for our enemies, yes, the love 
which God preached on earth, which the Princess Mariya 
taught me, and which I have not understood, —that is what 
made me feel regret for life; that is what would have remained 
for me if my.life had been spared. But now it is too late. 
I know it.” 


CHAPTER XXXVIILI. 


Tue terrible spectacle of the battle-field, covered with 
corpses and wounded men, together with the heaviness of his 
head and the news that a score of famous generals had been 
killed and wounded, and together with the consciousness that 
his formerly powerful hands were powerless, had produced aii 
unusual impression upon Napoleon, who, as a general thing, 
was fond of contemplating the killed and wounded, this being 
(as he thought) a proof of his mental force. 

On this day the horrible spectacle of the battle-field over- 


WAR AND PEACE. O77 


‘eame this moral force whereby he had always manifested his 
worth and greatness. He hastened away from the battle-field 
and returned to the hill of Shevardino. Sallow, bloated, 
‘apathetic, with blood-shot eyes, red nose, and hoarse voice, he 
sat on his camp-chair, involuntarily listening to the sounds of 
the firing and not raising his eyes. 

- With sickening distress he awaited the end, of this action, 
of which he regarded himself the principal participant, but 
Which he was powerless to stay. A personal feeling of 
humanity for a brief moment became paramount over that 
artificial phantom of life which he had followed so long. He 
bore the weight of all the suffering and death which he had 
witnessed on the battle-field. The dull feeling in his head 
‘and chest reminded him of the possibility that he also might 
have to suffer and to die. At that instant he desired neither 
‘Moscow nor victory nor glory (and yet what glory he stul 
Tequired!). The one thing that he now desired was rest, 
‘Tepose, and liberty. 

But as soon as he reached the Semenovskoye heights, an 
artillery general proposed to him to station a few batteries 
there for the sake of increasing the fire on the Russian troops 
‘massing in front of Kniazkovo. Napoleon consented, and 
ordered a report to be made to him as to the effect produced 
by these batteries. 

An aide-de-camp came to say that, in accordance with the 
emperor’s orders, two hundred cannon had been directed 
against the Russians, but that the Russians still held their 
ground. 

“Our fire mows them down in rows, but still they stand,” 
‘said the aide. 

“Tis en veulent encore!—They want some more of the 
same!” said Napoleon in his husky voice. 

“Sire?” inquired the aide, not quite understanding what 
the emperor said. 

“Ils en veulent encore,” repeated Napoleon in his hoarse 
‘yoice, with a frown, “donnez leurs-en. — Give it them.” 

Even without his orders what he did not wish was accom- 
plished, and he repeated the form of the injunction, simply 
‘because he imagined that the injunction was expected of him. 
And again he returned into that former artificial world of 
‘illusions as to his majesty, and once more— like a horse 
which walks on the sliding plane of the tread-mill and all the 
time imagines that he is doing something for himself — again 
‘he began stubbornly to fulfil that cruel, painful, and trying 
and inhuman role which was imposed upon him. 


78 WAR AND PEACE. 


It was not that on this day and this hour alone the intellect 
ard conscience of this man, on whom weighed more heavily 
than on all the other participants of this action the responsi- 


bility for what was taking place, were darkened, but never, 


even to the end of his life, was he able to realize the goodness, 


or the beauty or the truth, or the real significance of his 


actions, since they were too much opposed to goodness and 
right, too far removed from all that was human, for him to be 
able to realize their significance. He could not disavow his 
actions, since they were approved by half of the world, and 
consequently he was compelled to disavow truth and goodness 
and all that was humane. It was not alone when having rid- 
den round the field of battle strewn with dead and mutilated 
men —as he fondly supposed, through his volition —that in 
contemplating these men, he tried to caleulate how many Rus- 
sians one single Frenchman stood for, and, deceiving himself, 


found good reason for rejoicing that one Frenchman was equal. 
8‘ ; nee S qual 
to five Russians! This was not the only day that he wrote in 


his letter to Paris that le champ de bataille a été superbe — 
that the battle-field was magnificent — because there wer 
fifty thousand corpses on it; but on the Island of Saint 
Helena as well, in the silence of his solitude, where he de- 
clared that he was going to devote his leisure moments to an 


exposition of the mighty deeds which he had accomplished, — 


he wrote : — 


‘* The Russian war should have been the most popular war of modern 
times: it was one of sound common sense and genuine advantage, cal- 
culated to bring peace and security to all; it was purely pacific and con- 
servative. 

‘‘Its great purpose was to put an end to contingencies and to establish 
security. A new horizon, new labors would have opened up and brought 
well-being and prosperity to all. The European system was established; 
all that was left to do was to organize it. 

‘* Satisfied on these great questions, and at peace with all the world, I 
also should have had my Congress and my Hoty ALIIANCE. Those 
ideas were stolen from me. In this great council of monarchs we should 
have discussed our interests as in a family, and ruled the nations with 
a high sense of. our responsibilities. 

‘* Thus Europe would soon have become in reality but a single people, 
and every man, wherever he might travel, would always find himself in 
the common fatherland. I would have insisted on all navigable rivers 
being free to all, on all having equal rights to all seas, and on all the 
great standing armies being henceforth reduced to a guard for the 
sovereigns. ; ; 

‘On my return to France, being established in the heart of a country 
rendered great, magnificent, tranquil, glorious, I should have proclaimed 
her boundaries unchangeable: all future war purely defensive ; all new 
aggrandizement anti-national, I should have made my son my partner 

A 


. 





WAR AND PEACE. 279 


dn the throne; my dictatorship would have ended and his constitutional 
reign would have begun — 

** Paris would have become the capital of the world and the French 
the envy of the nations. 

‘Then my leisure and my old days would have been devoted, during 
my son’s royal apprenticeship, to making tours in company with the 
empress — with our own horses and taking our time, like a worthy coun- 
try couple — through all the nooks and corners of the empire, receiving 
petitions, redressing wrongs, establishing wherever we went and every- 
where monuments and benefactions.’’ * 


' This man foreordained by Providence to play the painful, 
predestined part of executioner of the nations, persuaded him- 
Self that the end and aim of his actions was the good of the 
nations, and that he could have ruled the destinies of millions, 
and loaded them with benefits, if he had been given the 
power! Shite 

He wrote further concerning the Russian war as follows : — 


‘Out of the four hundred thousand men who crossed the Vistula, 
half were Austrians, Prussians, Saxons, Poles, Bavarians, Wurttem- 
bergers, Mecklenbergers, Spaniards, Italians, and Neapolitans. ‘The im- 
‘perial army, properly speaking, was one-fourth composed of Dutch and 
Belgians, the inhabitants of the banks of the Rhine, Piedmontese, Swiss, 
Genevese, ‘Tuscans, Romans, the inhabitants of the thirty-second mili- 
tary district, — Bremen, Hamburg, etc.; it counted scarcely one hundred 
and forty thousand men who spoke French. The lussian expedition 
cost France less than fifty thousand men; the Russian army, during the 
retreat from Vilno to Moscow in the various battles, lost four times as 
Many as the French army; the burning of Moscow cost the life of one 
hundred thousand Russians, who perished of cold and starvation in the 
forests, and moreover, in its march from Moscow to the Oder, the Rus- 


 * La guerre de Russie a du étre la plus populaire des temps modernes: 
était celle du bon sens et des vrais interéts, celle du repos et de la securité 
de tous; elle était purement pacifique et conservatrice. C’était pour la 
grande cause, la fin des hasards et le commencement de la securité. Un nouvel 
horizon, de nouveaux travaux allaient se dérouler, tout plein du bien-étre et de 
la prosperité detous. Le systeme Européen se trouvait fondé: il n’était plus 
question que de Vorganiser. Satisfait sur ces grands points et tranquille par- 
tout, j’aurais eu auss, mon congres el ma sainte-alliance. Ce sont des idées 
-gwon m’a volées. Dans cette réunion de grands souverains, nous eussions 
traités de nos interéts en famille et compté de clere a maitre avec les peuples. 
\L’Europe n’eut bientot fait de la sorte véritablement qu’un méme peuple, et 
chacun, en voyageant partout, se fut trowvé toujours dans la patrie commune, 
J’eus demandé toutes les riviéres navigables pour tous, la communauté des 
“mers et que les grandes armées permanentes fussent réduites désormais a la 
seule garde des souverains. De rétour en France au sein de la patrie, yrande, 
forte, magnifique, tranquille, glorieuse, j’eusse proclamé ses limites immu- 
ables ; toute guerre future, purement defensive ; tout agrandissement nouveau 
anti-national. .J’eusse associé mon fils a Vempire ; ma dictature eut jini, et 
son régne constitutionnel eut commencé. Paris eut été la capitale du monde, 
et les frangais Venvie des nations. Mes loisirs ensuite et mes vieux jours 
- eussent été consacrés, en compagnie de l’empératricée et durant Vapprentissage 
royal de mon fils, a visiter lentement et en vrai couple campagnard, avec no" 
 propres chevaux, tous les recoins de l'empire, recevant les plaintes, redressan 
les torts, semant de toutes parts et partout les monuments et les bienfaits, etc. 


| 


280 ' WAR AND PEACE. 


sian army suffered from the inclemency of the season. On its arrival at 
Vilno it counted only fifty thousand men, and at Kalish less than eighteen 
thousand.”’ 


He imagined that the war with Russia came about by his 
own will, and the horror of what took place did not stir his 
soul within him. He audaciously took upon himself the entire 
responsibility of the event, and his darkened intellect found jus- 
tification in the fact that, among the hundreds of thousands of 
men destroyed, there were fewer French than Hessians and 
Bavarians ! 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 


SEVERAL score thousands of men lay dead in various posi- 
tions and uniforms on the fields and meadows belonging to 
Mr. Davuidof and certain crown serfs, on those fields and 
meadows where for centuries the peasants of Borodino, Gorki, 
Shevardino, and Semenoyvskoye had with one accord harvested 
their crops and pastured their cattle. 

Around the field lazarets, for several acres, the grass and 
ground were soaked with blood. Throngs of men, wounded 
and not wounded, belonging to various commands, from the 
one side fell back to Mozhaisk, from the other to Valuyevo. 
Other throngs, weary and hungry, led by their chiefs, moved 
onward to the front. Still others stood in their places and 
went on firing. 

Over the entire field where, in the morning, the sun had 
shone on glittering bayonets and wreaths of smoke, now low- 
ered a wrack of damp and smoke, and the air was foul with a 
strange reek of nitrous fumes and blood. 

Clouds had gathered, and the rain-drops began to fall on the | 
dead, on the wounded, on the panic-stricken, and the weary, 
and the despairing. It seemed to say to them:' “Enough! 
enough! ye men! Cease !— Remember! What are ye doing ?” 

The men on either side, utterly weary, without nourish- 
ment and without rest, began alike to question whether it — 
were any advantage for them longer to exterminate each 
other, and hesitation could be seen in every face, and in every 
mind the question arose: “Why, wherefore are ye killing 
and being killed? Kill whomever ye please, do whatever ye 
please, but as for me I will no more of it!” 

This thought,:toward late afternoon, alike burned in the 
heart of each. At any moment all these men might suddenly 
manifest their horror at what they had been doing, give it” 
all up and fly anywhere it might happen. 





WAR AND PEACE. 224 


But although, toward the end of the struggle, the men be- 
gan to feel all the horror of their actions, although they would 
have been glad to cease, some strange, incomprehensible, mys- 
terious power still continued to direct them, and the surviving 
gunners,—one out of every three, — covered with sweat, 
grimed with powder, and stained with blood, staggering and 
panting with weariness, still lugged the projectiles, charged 
the guns, sighted them, applied the slow-matches, and the 
shot flew just.as swiftly and viciously from the one side and 
the other, and crushed human forms, and still that strange 
affair went on which was accomplished, not by the will of 
men, but by the will of Him who rules men and worlds. 

Any one who had looked at the vanishing remnants of the 

Russian army would have said that all the French needed to 
Jo would be to put forth one small last effort and the Russian 
army would vanish, and any one who had looked at the rem- 
aants of the French would have said that all that the Rus- 
svlans had to do was to make one small last effort and the 
French would be destroyed. But neither the French nor the 
Russians put forth this last effort, and the flame of the conflict 
slowly flickered out. | 
| The Russians did not make this effort because they did not 
tharge the French. At the beginning of the battle’ they 
nerely stood on the road to Moscow, disputing it, and in 
sxactly the same way they continued to stand at the end of 
ihe battle as they had stood at the beginning. But if the 
um of the Russians had been to defeat the French, they 
sould not put forth this last effort because all the Russian 
wToops had been defeated, there was not a single division of 
heir army that had not suffered in the engagement, and, 
‘hough the Russians still held their own, they had lost a 
IALF of their troops. 
/ The French, with the recollections of all their fifteen years 
Mf past victories, with their confidence in Napoleon’s invinci- 
wlity, with the consciousness that they had got possession of 
, portion of the battle-field, that their loss was only a quarter 
‘f their contingent, and that they had still twenty thousand 
@ reserve, not counting the Guard, might easily have put 
orth this effort. The French, who were attacking the Rus- 
jan army with the intention of defeating it, ought to have 
ade this effort, because so long as the Russians disputed the 
oad to Moscow, as they did before the battle began, the aim 
-£ the French was not attained, and all their efforts and 
osses were.thrown away. 


/ 


282 WAR AND PEACE. 


But the French did not put forth this effort. 

Certain historians assert that Napoleon had only to send 
forward his Old Guard, who were: still fresh, and the battle 
would have been won. To say what would have happened if 
Napoleon had sent forward the Guard is just the same as to 
say what would happen if autumn turned into spring. 

It was an impossibility. 

Napoleon did.not send forward his Guard, not because he 
did not want to do it, but because it was impossible for him 
to do it. All the generals, all the officers and soldiers of the 
French army knew that it was impossible to do this, because 
the dejected spirit of the army would not allow it. : 

Napoleon was not the only one to experience that night- 
mare feeling that the terrible blow of the arm was falling in 
vain, but all his generals, all the soldiers of the French army 
who took part or who did not take part, after all their experi- 
ences in former battles, when, after exerting a tenth as much 
force as now, the enemy would be vanquished, now experi- 
enced alike a feeling of awe at that enemy which, having 
lost a HALF of its troops, still stood just as threateningly at 
the end as it had stood at the beginning of the engagement. 

The moral force of the French attacking army was exhausted. 

Victory is not that which is signalized by the fastening of 
certain strips of cloth called flags to poles, nor by the space 
on which troops have stood or are standing; but victory 1s 
moral, when the one side has been persuaded as to the moral 
superiority of the other and of its own weakness; and such a 
victory was won by the Russians over the French at Borodino. 

The invading army, like an exasperated beast of prey, having 
received, as it ran, a mortal wound, became conscious that it 
was doomed; but it could not halt any more than the Russian, 
army, which was not half so strong, could help giving way. 
After the shock which had been given, the French army was 
still able to crawl to Moscow; but there, without any new 
efforts on the part of the Russian troops, it was doomed to 
perish, bleeding to death from the mortal wound received at 
Borodino. . 

The direct consequence of the battle of Borodino was Napo- 
leon’s causeless flight from Moscow, the return along the old 
Smolensk highway, the ruin of the five hundred thousand men 
of the invading army, and the destruction of Napoleonic 
France, on which at Borodino was for the first time laid the 
hand of an opponent stronger by force of spirit! | 





PART THIRD. 
| oes CHAPTER IL 


Ir is impossible for the human intellect to grasp the idea of 
zontinuous motion. Man can begin to understand the laws of 
any kind of motion only when he takes into consideration 
arbitrarily selected units of such motion. But at the same 
time from this arbitrary division of unbroken motion into 
measurable units flows the greater part of human errors. 

_, Take, for instance, the so-called “sophism” of the ancients, 
to prove that Achilles would never overtake a tortoise that 
fad the start of him, even though Achilles ran ten times 
more swiftly than the tortoise. As soon as Achilles had 
gassed over the distance between them, the tortoise would 
dave advanced one-tenth of that distance; Achilles runs 
shat tenth, the tortoise advances a hundredth, and so on ad 
myinitum. 

This problem seemed to the ancients unsolvable. The 
‘allacy of the reasoning that Achilles would never overtake 
ihe tortoise arose from this: simply, that intermitted units of - 
Motions were arbitrarily taken for granted, whereas the 
notion of Achilles and the tortoise were continuous. 

_ By assuming ever smaller and smaller units of motion, we 
mly approach the settlement of this question, we never really 
wtain to it. Only by assuming infinitesimal quantities, | 
‘nd the progression up to one-tenth, and by taking the sum of 
his geometrical progression, can we attain the solution of the 
(uestion. The new branch of mathematics which is the 
@ience of reckoning with infinitesimals enables us to deal 
with still more complicated problems of motion, and solves 
moblems which to the ancients seemed unanswerable. 

This new branch of mathematics, which was unknown to 
fhe ancients, and applies so admirably to the problems of 
Aotion, by admitting infinitesimally small quantities, — that 
3, those by which the principal condition of motion is 
established, — namely, absolute continuity, —in itself cor- 
ects the inevitable error which the human mind is bound to 


} 283 
a 


984 WAR AND PEACE. 


make when it contemplates the separate units of motion 
instead of continuous motion. 

In searching for the laws of historical movements precisely 
the same things must be observed. The progress of humanity, 
arising from an infinite collection of human wills, is continu- 
ous. 3 

The attainment of the laws of this onward march is the 
aim of history. 

But in order to discover the laws of continuous motion in 
the sum of all the volitions of men, human reason assumes 
arbitrary and separate units. History first studies an arbi- 
trary series of uninterrupted events, and contemplates it sep- 
~ arate from the others, albeit there is and can be no beginning 
of an event, but every event is the direct outgrowth of its 
predecessor. 

Secondly, history studies the deeds of a single man, a tsar, 
a colonel, as representing the sum of men’s volitions, when 
in reality the sum of men’s volitions is never expressed in the 
activities of any one historical personage. 

The science of history is constantly taking ever smaller and 
smaller units for study, and in this way strives to reach the 
truth. But, however small the units which history takes, we 
feel that the assumption of any unit separate from another, 
the assumption of a beginning of any phenomenon whatever, 
and the assumption that the volitions of all men are ex- 
pressed in the actions of any historical character, must be 
false per se. 

Every deduction of history falls to pieces, hke powder, 
without the slightest effort on the part of a critique, leaving 
nothing behind it, simply in consequence of the fact that the 
critique chooses as the object of its observation a more or less 
interrupted unit; and it has always the right to do this, since 
every historical unit is always arbitrary. 

Only by assuming the infinitesimal unit for our observation 
—as the differential of history —in other words the homo- 
geneous tendencies of men, and by attaining the art of 
integrating (calculating the sum of these infinitesimal dit 
ferentials), can we expect to attain to the laws of history. 


The first fifteen years of the nineteenth century in Europe 
exhibit an extraordinary movement of millions of men. Men 
abandon their ordinary vocations, rush from one end of 
Europe to the other, rob, slaughter each other; they triumph 
and despair, and the whole course of their lives is for @ 


yi } , 
‘ WAR AND PEACE. 985 
‘umber of years changed, and undergoes a powerful move- 
,ment, which at first goes on increasing and then slackens. 

»| “What is the cause of this movement, or by what laws did 
it take place?” asks the human mind. 

. The historians, replying to this question, bring to our notice 
eertain acts and speeches of certain dozens of men, in one of 
the buildings of the city of Paris, and call these acts and 
speeches “the Revolution;” then they give a circumstantial 
jaccount of Napoleon, and of certain sympathizers and 
enemies of his, tell about the influence which certain of these 
‘individuals had upon the others, and they say: “This was 
the cause of this movement, and here are its laws.” ° 

‘ But the human mind not only refuses to put credence in this 
explanation, but. declares, up and down, that this manner of 
{explanation is fallacious, for the reason that, according to it, 
A feeble phenomenon is taken as the cause of a mighty one. 
Phe sum of human volitions produced both the Revolution 
and Napoleon, and only the sum of these volitions sustained 
them and destroyed them. 

| “But in every case where there have been conquests there 
jaave been conquerors; in every case where there have been 
(tevolutions in a kingdom there have been great men,” says 
oistory. | 

__ “Indeed, in every case where conquerors have appeared, 
there have been wars,” replies human reason; but this does 
aot prove that the conquerors were the cause of the wars, 
odrthat it is possible to discover the laws of war in the per- 
onal activity of a single man. 

. In every case when I, looking at my watch, observe that 
‘he hand points at ten, I hear the bells ringing in. the neigh- 
)oring church; but from the fact that in every case when the 
jand reaches ten o’clock, the: ringing of the bells begins, I 
Yave no right to draw the conclusion that the position of the 
lands is the cause of the motion in the bells. 

| Every time when I observe an engine in motion, I hear the 
ound of the whistle, I see the valves open and the wheels in 
notion; but from this I have no right to conclude that the 
whistle and the movement of the wheels are the cause of the 
novement of the engine. 

‘The peasants say that in late spring the cold wind blows 
pecause the oak-tree is budding, and it is a fact that every 
pring a cold wind blows when the oaks are in bloom. But, 
ilthough the cause of the cold wind blowing during the blos- 
oming-time of the oaks is unknown to me, Iam unable to 








3 


286 WAR AND PEACE 


agree with the peasants in attributing the cause of the cold 
winds to the bourgeoning buds on the oaks, for the reason that 
the force of the wind has nothing to do with the oak-buds. I 
see only a coincidence of their conditions, which is found in 
all the phenomena of life, and I see that, no matter how care- 
fully I may contemplate the hands of the watch, the valves 
and wheels of the engine, and the oak-buds, I shall never learn 
the cause that makes the church-bell chime, the engine to 
move, and the wind to blow in the spring. To discover this, 
I must entirely change my point of view, and study the laws 
that regulate steam, bells, and the wind. 

History must do the same thing. 

And experiments in this have already been made. 

For, studying the laws of history, we must absolutely change 
the objects of our observation, leave kings, ministers, and 
generals out of the account, and select for study the homoge- 
neous, infinitesimal elements which regulate the masses. No 
one can say how far it is given to man to attain by this path 
toward understanding the laws of history; but evidently it 
is only on this path that there is any possibility of grasping 
the laws of history, and the human intellect has not, so far, 
devoted to this method the one-millionth part of the energies 
which have been expended by historians in the description of 
the deeds of various kings, captains, and ministers, and in the 
elucidation of their combinations,, which were based upon. 
these deeds. 


CHAPTER. IL. 


Tne forces of a dozen nations of Europe invaded Russia. 

The Russian army and the people, avoiding collision, with- 
draw before the enemy to Smolensk, and from Smolensk to 
Borodino. The French army, with continually inereasing in- 
petus, advances upon Moscow, the goal of its destination. 

As it approaches the goal, its impetus imereases, just as 
the velocity of a falling body increases as it approaches the 
earth. Behind it are thousands of versts of devastated, hos- 
tile country ; before it, only a few dozen versts separate 16 
from its goal. Every soldier in Napoleon’s army is conscious 
of this, and the invading force moves forward by its own 
momentum. : 

In the Russian army, in proportion as it retreats, the spirit 
of fury against the enemy becomes more and more inflamed: 
during the retreat it grows concentrated and more vigorous. 


oe) 





WAR AND PEACE. 987 


At Borodino, the collision takes place. 

__ Neither the one army nor the other is dispersed, but imme- 
dhately after the collision, the Russian army recoils, as inev- 
‘Ttably as a ball recoils when struck by another in the impetus 
‘of full flight. And just as inevitably the colliding ball 
Mhoves a certain distance forward (although it loses its force 
by the collision). 

| The Russians retire one hundred and. twenty versts to a 
‘point beyond Moscow; the French enter the city, and there 
‘come to a standstill. 

During the five weeks that follow, there is not a single 
battle. The French do not stir. 

Like a wild beast mortally wounded, which licks its pro- 
Tusely bleeding wounds, the: French remain for five weeks at 
‘Moscow, making no attempts to do anything. Then, suddenly, 
without apparent reason, they fly back; they take the road to 
Kaluga, and, after one more victory, since the field of Malo- 
‘Yaroslavets is theits, they retreat still more rapidly, without 
Tisking any important battle, to Smolensk, beyond Smolensk, 
‘beyond Vilno, beyond the Berezina, and so on. 

On the night of September 7, Kutuzof and the whole Rus- 
‘Sian army were persuaded that they had won the battle of 
Borodino. Kutuzof even thus reported to his sovereign. 

Kutuzof gave orders to prepare for another battle to finish 
with the enemy, not because he wanted to deceive any one, 
but because he knew that the enemy had been beaten; and 
this fact was likewise known by both parties in the battle. 

But that night, and the next day, reports began to arrive of 
the unprecedented losses sustained, of the army being reduced 
to one-half, and another battle seemed physically impossible. 

_ It was vain to undertake another battle, when their condi- 
tion was as yet unknown, their wounded uncared for, their 
‘dead uncounted, fresh missiles not furnished, new officers not 
replacing their dead generals, and their men unrefreshed by 
food and sleep. 
‘ Moreover, the French army, immediately after the battle, 
the next morning, by the law of momentum, its force increas- 
Ing inversely according to the square of the distance, had 
already begun to move of itself upon the Russian army. 
-Kutuzof wanted to renew the attack on the following day, 
and all his army desired this. But the desire to make an 
‘attack is not enough. There must also be the possibility of 
‘doing it; and in this case possibility was lacking. 

Jt was impossible to prevent retreating one day’s march; 


928 WAR AND PEACE. 


bal 


in the same way, it was impossible to prevent retreating a 
second days march, then a third, and finally, when, on Sep- 
tember 13, the army reached Moscow, although the troops had 
regained their spirits, the force of circumstances obliged 


them to retire beyond the city, and they made this one last : 


retrograde movement and abandoned Moscow to the enemy. 

To those who are wont to think that generals plan their 
wars and battles in. the same way as we, seated tranquilly in 
our libraries, with a map spread before us, make up combina- 
tions and ask ourselves what measures we should have taken 
in such and such a war, to such persons the questions arise, 
Why did not Kutuzof, in beating a retreat, stop in this place 
or in that ? — why did he not occupy some position before 
reaching Fili?—why did he not at once take the road to 
| Kaluga, leaving Moscow to itself ? and so on. 


Men wonted to think in this way forget or do not know 


the inevitable conditions by which every commander-in-chief 
must act. His occupation has nothing ‘at all analogous to 


what we fondly imagine it to be; we sit comfortably in our _ 


libraries, picking out, with the aid of a map, a campaign 
with a given number of troops on the one side and the other, 
and in a given locality, and beginning at some given moment. 

The eeneral-i in-chief is never, at the beginning of an action, 
surrounded by conditions such as we always have when we 
consider the action. The commander-in-chief is always at the 
centre of a series of hurrying events, so that he is not ina 
condition, for a single instant, to comprehend the whole 


significance of what is going on. The action is imperceptible, — 
unfolding from instant to instant; and at every instant of — 
this uninterrupted, continuous succession of events, the com- 
mander-in-chief is at the centre of a complicated game of © 


intrigues, labors, perplexities, responsibilities, projects, coun- 


sels, dangers, and deceits, and is obliged to reply to an infi- | 
nite number of contradictory questions, which are submitted 


to him. 

Military critics assure us, in the most serious manner, that 
Kutuzof should have led his troops along the Kaluga road, 
before ever he thought of retreating to Fili; that such a 
course was even suggested to him. But a commander-in- 
chief has, especially at a decisive moment, not one project 
alone, but a dozen projects to examine at onee. And all of 
these projects, based upon strategy and tactics, are mutually 
contradictory. It is the office of the ‘commander-in-chief, so 
it would seem, simply to select some one of these projects that 


a) 





WAR AND PEACE. 289 


‘are suggested’; but even this he cannot do. Time and events 
will not wait. 

Let us suppose that on the tenth of September it is proposed 
to Kutuzof to cross over to the Kaluga road, but that at the 
same moment an adjutant from Miloradoviteh gallops up, 
and asks whether they shall at once engage with the French 
or retire. ‘This question must be decided instantly. But the 
order to retire prevents us from the détowr along the Kaluga 
highway. 

Immediately after the adjutant, the commissary asks 
‘where the stores are to be transported; the chief of ambu- 
dance wishes to know where the wounded shall be carried; a 
courier from Petersburg brings a letter from the sovereign, 
declaring the abandonment of Moscow to be impossible ; a 
‘rival of “the commander -in-chief, who is trying to undermine 
his authority, — there are always several such, not one alone, 
— presents a new plan, diametrically opposed to that favoring 
retreat by the Kaluga road. 

_ The commander-in-chief is thoroughly exhausted, and needs 
sleep and refreshment. But a general who has been passed 
Over without a decoration comes to make a complaint; the 
inhabitants implore protection ; an officer, who has been sent 
out to reconnoitre, returns, and brings a report directly con- 
‘trary to that brought by the officer who had been sent out 
before him; a spy and a captive and a general who have made 
a reconnoitring tour all describe in a different way the posi- 
tion of the enemy. 

Men who are not accustomed to consider, or who forget the 
Inevitable conditions controlling the activity of every com- 
Mander-in-chief, show us, for example, the situation of the 
troops at Fil, and take for granted that the commander-in- 
chief had till September 13 to decide the question as to the 
abandonment or defence of Moscow; whereas, in the position 
of the Russian army, within five versts of Moscow, this ques- 
tion could not even arise. 

At what point, then, was this question decided ? 

It was decided at Drissa, at Smolensk, still more palpably, 
On September 5, at Shevardino, at Borodino on the 7th, and 
every day, every hour, and every minute of the retreat from 
Borodino to Fili. 


: VOL. 3. — 19, 


290 WAR AND PEACE. 


CHAPTER III. 


Tur Russian army, having retreated from Borodino, paused 
at Fili. Yermolof, who had been sent by Kutuzof to recon- 
aoitre the.position, came back to the field-marshal and said : 
“There is no possibility of fighting in this position.” 

Kutuzof looked at him in amazement, and asked him to repeat 
what he had said. When he did so, Kutuzof reached toward 
him : — | 


: 


“Give me your hand,” said he; and, turning it round so as | 


to feel his pulse, he said: “You are ill, my dear!* Think 
what you are saying.” : 


Not even yet could Kutuzof comprehend that it was within 


the limits of possibility to retire beyond Moscow without a 


battle. Kutuzof got out of his carriage on the PaklonnayaT 


Hill, six versts from the Dorogomilovskaya barrier, and sat 


down on a bench at the edge of the road. A portentous array — 
of generals gathered around him. Count Rostopchin, who_ 


had driven out from Moscow, joined them. 


All this brilliant society, dividing itself into little circles, | 
was discussing together the advantages and disadvantages of - 
the position, the condition of the forces, the various plans pro- 
posed, the state of Moscow, and about military matters in gen- | 


eral. All felt that this was a council of war, although they 


had not been convened for the purpose, and though it was not 
called so. All conversation was confined to the domain of 
these general questions. If any one communicated or heard 
private news, it was done in a whisper, and such digressions 
were immediately followed by a return to the general ques- 


tions; not a jest, not a laugh, not even a smile, was exchanged - 


among all these men. 


All, though it evidently required an effort, tried to maintain 


themselves to the height of the occasion. And all these 
groups, engaged in conversation, strove to keep close to the 
commander-in-chief — the bench on which he sat was the centre 
of these circles —and they spoke so that they might be over 
heard by him. | 

The commander-in-chief listened, and occasionally asked 
for a repetition of what was said around him ; but he did not 
himself mingle in the conversation, and he expressed no opin 
ion. For the most part, after listening to what was said im 


* Golubchik. + Salutation. 





WAR AND PEACE. 291 


‘any little group, he would turn abruptly away with a look of 
disgust, as though what they said was not at all what he 
wanted to hear. 

Some talked about the position chosen; criticising not the 

position so much as they did the intellectual characteristics of 
those who had selected it. Others tried to prove that a mis- 
take had been made before, that they should have accepted 
battle two days before; still others were talking about the 
battle of Salamanca, which a Frenchman, named Crossart, 
who had just arrived in a Spanish uniform, described to them. 
' This Frenchman was discussing the siege of Salamanca, with 
one of the German princes serving in the Russian army, and 
laying it down that Moscow could be defended in the same 
way. 
' In a fourth group, Count Rostopchin was declaring that he, 
together with the Moscow city troop,* had been ready to per- 
ish under the walls of the capital, but that still he could not 
help regretting the uncertainty in which he had been left, and 
that if he had only known about this before, things would 
have been different. 

A fifth group, making a display of the profundity of their 
‘strategical calculations, talked about the route which our 
‘troops ought to have taken. A sixth group talked sheer non- 
sense. 

Kutuzof’s face kept growing more and more troubled and 
‘melancholy. From all these scraps of conversation he drew 
‘one conclusion: that to defend Moscow was not a physical 
/possibility in the full meaning of the words; that is, so far it 
‘was an impossibility that if any commander-in-chief should 
‘be senseless enough to issue the order to give battle, confu- 
‘slon would ensue, and no battle would take place; it would 
‘not take place for the reason that all the high nachalniks not 
only pronounced the position untenable, but, as they talked, 
‘they gave their opinions only in regard to what was to ensue 
‘aiter the abandonment of this position, which was taken for 
‘granted. How could these generals lead their troops upon a 
field of battle which they regarded as untenable ? 

The nachalniks of lower rank, even the soldiers (who also 
had their opinions), in the same way, considered the position 
impossible, and, therefore, they could not be expected to fight 
when they were morally sure that they were going to be ‘de- 
feated. If Benigsen still urged the defence of this position, 
vand the others still were willing to discuss it, this: question, 


* Druzhina. 





292 WAR AND PEACE. 


nevertheless, had no significance in itself; the only signifi- 
cance was the pretext which it offered for quarrels and intrigues. 
Kutuzof understood this. 

Benigsen, having selected a position, hotly insisted on the 
defence of Moscow, thereby making a show of his Russian 
patriotism. Kutuzof, as he listened to him, could not help 
frowning. Benigsen’s motive was to him as clear as day; in 
case of disaster and failure, he would lay the blame on Kutu- 
zoft, who had led the troops, without a battle, to the Sparrows 
Hills; while, in the event of success, he would claim all the 
credit of it for himself; but if he refused to make the at- 
tempt, he would wash his hands of the crime of abandoning 
Moscow. 

But-the old man was not at the present oceupied with this 
intrigue. One single, terrible question occupied him. Aad 
the answer to this question he could obtain from no one. 
This question now merely consisted in this :— 

“Ts it possible that I have allowed Napoleon to reach Mos- 
cow, and when did I do it? When was this decided upon ? 
Was it yesterday, when I sent to Platof the order to retreat, 
or was it day before yesterday, in the evening, when I was 
sleepy, and ordered Benigsen to make what dispositions he 
pleased ? Or was it before that ? — But when, when was this 
terrible deed decided upon? Moscow must be abandoned! 
The troops must retire, and this order must be promul- 
gated!” 

To issue this terrible order seemed to him tantamount to 
resigning the command of the army. But, though he loved 
power, and was used to it (the honor granted to Prince Pro- 
gorovsky, to whose staff he was attached while he was in 
Turkey, annoyed him), still he was persuaded that the salva- 
tion of Russia was predestined to be accomplished by him; 
and, only for this reason, against the sovereign’s will, and in 
accordance with the will of the people, he had been placed in 
supreme command. He was convinced that he alone could, 
in these trying circumstances, maintain himself at the head 
of the army; that he was the only one in all the world who 
was able to view without horror the invincible Napoleon as 
his opponent, and he was overwhelmed at the mere thought of 
the command which he was obliged to give. But it was essen- 
tial to come to some decision; it was essential to cut short 
these discussions around him, which were beginning to as- 
sume altogether too free a character. 

He called to him the senior generals, — 





WAR AND PEACE. 293 


“ Ma téte, fut elle bonne ow mauvaise, n’a qwa s’aider d’elle- 
.méme — my judgment, whether good or bad, must be its own 
teliance,” said he, as he got up from the bench; and he drove 
‘to Fili, where his horses were stabled. 

{ 


CHAPTER IV. 
| A councin was convened at two o’clock, in the largest and 
‘best room of the muzhik Andrei Savostyanof’s cottage. The 
‘men, women, and children belonging to the muzhik’s large 
‘household were huddled together in the living-room * across 
‘the entry. Only Andrei’s granddaughter, Malasha, a little 
‘girl of six summers, whom his serene highness had caressed 
land given a lump of sugar, while he was drinking tea, remained 
in the large room, on the stove. Malasha coyly and gleefully 
looked down from the stove on the faces, uniforms, and 
‘grosses of the generals who came one after the other into the izba 
and took their places on the wide benches in the “ red corner,” 
under the holy pictures. 

The “little grandfather” ft himself, as Malasha secretly 
salled Kutuzof, sat apart from the rest, in the “dark corner,” 
behind the stove. He sat deeply ensconced in a camp-chair, 
‘and kept grumbling and pulling at his coat-collar, which, 
though it was turned back, seemed to choke him. 

The men, as they came in one at a time, came to pay their 
‘respects to the field-marshal. He shook hands with some of 
‘them; he merely nodded to others. Adjutant Kaisarof was 
about to draw the curtain at the window, over against Kutu- 
‘zof, but the general fiercely waved his hand at him, and Kai- 
-sarof understood that his serene highness did not wish his face 
‘50 be seen. Around the muzhik’s deal table, whereon lay 
‘maps, plans, lead-pencils, sheets of paper, were gathered. so 
‘many men that the servants had to bring in still another 
loench and set it down near the table. 

' On this bench sat the late comers: Yermolof, Kaisarof, and 
Toll. Under the images, in the place of honor, sat Barclay 
de Tolly, with the George round his neck, and with pale, 
sickly face and lofty brow, between which and the bald head 
“shere was no dividing line. For two days he had been suffer- 
(ng from an attack of ague, and at this very moment he was 
‘hilled and shaking with fever. 

Next him sat Uvarof, and in a low tone of voice (which 


* Chornaya izbd (black hut), the back room. t Dyédushka. 










2.94. WAR AND PEACE. 


they all used) was making some communication with swift, 
eager gestures. 

The little round Dokhturof, arching his brows and folding 
his hands on his paunch, was attentively listening. 

On the other side sat Count Ostermann-Tolstoi, with fear- 
less features and gleaming eyes, leaning his big head on his 
hand, and seemed immersed in his thoughts. 

Rayevsky, with a look expressing impatience, was, as usual, 
engaged in twisting his black curls forward into love-locks, 
and now gazed at Kutuzof, now at the front door. 

Konovnitsuin’s reliable, handsome, good face was lighted 
by a shrewd and friendly smile. He was trying to catch Ma 
lasha’s eyes, and was winking at her and making the little 
one smile. 

All were waiting for Benigsen; who had made a pretext of 
wishing once more to examine the position so as to eat his 
sumptuous dinner in peace. They waited for him from four 
o’clock till six ; and all that time they refrained from any delib- 
eration, but talked in undertones about irrelevant matters. Only 
when Benigsen entered the izba did Kutuzof leave his corner 
and approach the table, but even then he took care that the 
candles placed there should not light up his face. 

Benigsen opened the council with the question, “Shall the 
holy and ancient capital of Russia be deserted without a blow 
being struck, or skall it be defended?” A long and uninter- 
rupted silence followed. All faces grew grave, and in the 
silence could be heard Kutuzof’s angry grunting and cough- 
ing. All eyes were fixed upon him. Malasha also gazed ati 
the “little grandfather.” She was nearer to him than any ot 
the others, and could see how his face was covered with frowns: 
he seemed to be ready to burst into tears. But this did not 
last long. 

“The holy, ancient capital of Russia!” he suddenly re- 
peated in a gruff voice, repeating Benigsen’s language, and 
thereby making them feel the false note in these words. 
“Permit me to tell you, your illustriousness, that this ques: 
tion has no sense for a Russian.” (He leaned forward with 
his heavy body.) “It is impossible to face such a question, 
and such a question has no sense. The question for which | 
have convened these gentlemen is a military one. That 
question is as follows : — The salvation of Russia is her army; 
Would it be more to our advantage to risk the loss of the 
army and of Moscow too by accepting battle, or to abandon 
Moscow without a battle ? It is on this question that I wish 


u 
| 


. 


WAR AND PEACE. 295 


(gain. ) 


‘0 know your minds.” (He threw himself back into his chair 


> The discussion began. 

_ Benigsen refused to believe that the game was yet played 
‘ut. Granting the opinion of Barclay and the others, that it 
‘vas impossible to accept a defensive battle at Fili, he, being 
hhoroughly imbued with Russian patriotism and love for 
Moscow, proposed to lead the troops during the night, over 
‘rom the right to the left flank, and on the next day to 
‘trike a blow at the right wing of the French. 

' Opinions were divided ; discussion waxed hot over the pros 
‘md cons of this movement. Yermolof, Dokhturof, and 
‘Mayevsky concurred with Benigsen’s views. Whether they 
vere dominated by a sense that some sacrifice was necessary 
before the capital was abandoned, or whether it was personal 
yonsiderations that influenced them, still the fact was, all 
hese generals seemed unable to comprehend that this advice 
yould not alter the inevitable course of events, and that Mos- 
ow was already practically abandoned. 

_The other generals understood this, and, setting aside the 
{uestion of Moscow, they merely discussed the route which 
he army in its retrograde march should take. 

_ Malasha, who, with steady eyes, gazed at what was going on 
yefore her, understood the significance of this council in an 
‘ntirely different way. It seemed to her that the trouble was 
nerely a personal quarrel between the “little grandfather ”’ 
nd “jong-skirts,” as she called Benigsen. She saw that they 
fot excited when they talked together, and her soul clung to 
he “ little grandfather’s ” side. 

In the midst of the discussion she remarked the keen, shrewd 
lance which he cast upon Benigsen, ard immediately after, 
auch to her delight, she noticed that the “little grandfather,” 
‘f saying something to “long-skirts,” offended him. . Benig- 
‘en suddenly flushed, and angrily walked across the room. 
‘The words which had such an effect upon Benigsen were 
‘poken in a calm, low tone, and merely expressed Kutuzof’s 
‘pinion as to the advisability or inadvisability of Benigsen’s 
uggestion; that is, to lead the troops during the night, from 
he right to the left flank, so as to attack the right wing of 
he French. 

“Gentlemen!” said Kutuzof, “I cannot approve of the 
‘ount’s plan. Transfers of troops in the immediate proximity 
‘Tthe enemy are always dangerous, and military history con- 
‘ms this view. Thus for example” — (Kutuzof paused as 



















296 WAR AND PEACE. 


though trying to call up the desired example, and gave Benig- 
sen a frank, naive look) — “yes, suppose we should take the 
battle of Friedland, which I presume the count remembers 
was — well —about as good as given away simply for the 
reason that our troops attempted to cross from one flank to 
the other while the enemy were in too close proximity ” — 

A silence followed, lasting for a minute, but seeming an ag 
to all present. 

The discussion was again renewed; but there were frequen 
interruptions, and there was a general feeling that there wa; 
nothing more to be said. 

During one of these lulls in the conversation, Kutuzof drew 
a long sich, as though he were preparing to speak. AI] looked 
at him. 

“Hh bien, Messieurs, je vois qye est mot qui payerai les pots 
cassés — I see that I must bear the brunt of it,” said he. And 
slowly getting to his feet he approached the table, — “ Gen; 
_tlemen, I have listened to your views. Some of you will be 
dissatisfied with me. But” — (he hesitated) “I, in virtue of 
the power confided to me by the sovereign and ‘the country, 
I command that we retreat.” 

Immediately after this, the generals began to disperse with 
that solemn and silent circumspection which people observe 
after a funeral. Several of the generals, in low voices, but im 
an entirely different key from that in which they had spoken 
during the council, made some communication to the com- 
mander-in- chief. 

Malasha, who had long since been expected at the supper 
table, cautiously let herself down backwards from the loft, cling: 
ing with her little bare toes to the projections of the stove, and, 
slipping between the legs of the officers, darted out of the door. 

Having dismissed the generals, Kutuzof sat for a long time 
with his elbows resting on the table and pondering over the 
same terrible question: “ When was it, when was it, that it 
was finally decided Moscow must be abandoned? When 
took place that which decided the question? and who is to 
blame for it ?” 

“JT did not expect this, I did not expect it,” said he aloud to 
his adjutant, eee ay who came to him late that night. “1 
did not expect this. I did not dream of such a thing!” ) 

“You must get some rest, your serene highness,” said 
Schneider. 

“Tt’s not done with yet! They shall chaw horse-flesh yet 
like the Turks,” cried Kutuzof, not heeding him, and thump} 
ing his fat fist on the table. “They shall —as soon as” — 











WAR AND PEACE. 297 


CHAPTER V. 


In contradistinction to Kutuzof, though at the same time, 
md in an event of far greater importance than the retreat of 
‘he army without fighting, — namely, in the abandonment and 
»urning of Moscow, — Rostopchin, who has been considered 
‘he responsible agent for this action, behaved in an entirely 
jiiferent manner. This event— the abandonment of Moscow 
ad its destruction by fire — was just exactly, after the battle 
‘f Borodino, as inevitable as the retirement of the troops 
yeyond Moscow, — without fighting. 
| Every man in Russia might have predicted what took place, 
lot indeed by basing his deductions on logic, but by basing 
‘hem on that sentiment which is inherent in ourselves. and 
‘vas inherent in our forefathers. 

' What happened in Moscow likewise happened —and that 
‘00 without Count Rostopchin’s proclamations —in all the 
‘ities and villages of the Russian land, beginning with Smo- 
ensk. The nation unconcernedly awaited the arrival of the 
‘0e, displaying no disorder, no excitement, tearing no one in 
leces, but calmly awaiting their fate, conscious that, even at 
‘he most trying moment, they should find they had the power 
0 do whatever was required of them. And as soon as the 
‘9e approached, the more wealthy elements of the population 
eparted, leaving their possessions behind them; the poorer 
lasses staid, and burned and destroyed what was abandoned. 

- The'conviction that things must be as they are has always 
‘een and still is inherent in the Russian mind. And this 
‘onviction — nay, more, the presentiment that Moscow would 
‘e taken —pervaded Russian and Moscovite society in the 
‘ear 1812. ‘Those who started to abandon Moscow as early as 
‘uly and the beginning of August showed that this was what 
‘ey expected. Those who fled, taking with them whatever 
‘ney could, and abandoning their houses and the half of their 
Ossessions, acted thus in obedience to that latent patriotism 
‘hich is expressed not in phrases, nor in the slaughter of 
hildren for the salvation of the fatherland, and by other un- 
atural deeds, but is expressed imperceptibly, simply, organi- 
ally, and, accordingly, always produces the most powerful 
sults. 

“Tt is disgraceful to flee from danger; only cowards will fly 
‘om Moscow,” it was said to them, Rostopchin, in his 




















998 WAR AND PEACE. 


ol 


Afishki, declared that it was ignominious to leave Moscow. 
They were ashamed to be branded as cowards, they were 
ashamed to go; but still they went, because they knew that 1 
had to be so. 

What made them go? 

It is impossible to suppose that Rostopchin frightened them 
by his cock-and-bull stories of the atrocities committed by 
Napoleon in conquered lands. They fled, and the first to fle 
were the wealthy, cultivated people, who knew perfectly wel 
that Vienna and Berlin were left intact, and that there, dur 
ing Napoleon’s occupation, the inhabitants led a gay life with 
the fascinating Frenchmen, who at that time were so belovet 
by Russian men and particularly Russian women. 

They went, because for Russians there could be no question 
whether it would be good or bad to have the French in control 
of Moscow. It was impossible to exist under the dominion of 
the French: that was worse than aught else. They began to 
escape even before the battle of Borodino, and after the battle 
of Borodino with greater and greater rapidity, not heeding 
the summons to remain and protect the city, notwithstanding 
the statements of the governor-genezal of Moscow as to his 
intention of taking the Iverskaya virgin and going forth to 
fight, and notwithstanding the balloons which were destined 
to bring destruction upon the French, and notwithstanding all 
the nonsense which Count Rostopchin wrote about in hi 
proclamations. 

They knew that the army ought to fight, and that if it 
could not, then it was no use for them to go out with theit 
fine ladies and their household serfs to Tri Gorui* to do battl 
with Napoleon, but that it was necessary for them to mak 
their escape, however much they might regret leaving their 
‘ property to destruction. | 

They fled, and gave never a thought to the majestic signifi 
cance of this splendid and rich capital abandoned by its im 
habitants, and unquestionably doomed to be burned (for it 
is not in the nature of the Russian populace not to sack, not t¢ 
set fire to empty houses); they fled each for himself; but, at 
the same time, merely as a consequence of their fleeing, was 
accomplished that majestic event which will forever remain 
the crowning glory of the Russian people. 

That noble lady ¢ who, even as early as the month of June, 
took her negroes and her jesters, and went from Moscow t¢ 
her country place near Saratof, with a vague consciousness 


* Three Hills. + Bdaruinya. fi 



















WAR AND PEACE. : 999 


















‘ihat she was no slave to Bonaparte, and with some apprehen- 
ion lest she should be stopped by Count Rostopchin’s orders, 
ti vas simply and naturally doing the mighty act that was to 
rove the salvation of Russia. 

» Count Rostopchin himself, now putting to shame those who 
‘led, now transferring the courts outside the city, now dis- 


laying the holy pictures, now forbidding Avgustin to remove 
the relics and ikons, now seizing all private conveyances that 
ivere in Moscow, now conveying on one hundred and thirty-six 
Jarts the balloon constructed by Leppich, now hinting that he 
should set Moscow on fire, now declaring that he had burnt 

uis own house, now writing a proclamation to the French in 
\vhich he solemnly reproached them for having destroyed his 
)foundling Asylum; now taking the glory of the burning of 
/Moscow, now disclaiming it; now ordering the people to cap- 
}ure all spies and bring them to him, now reproaching the 
yeople for doing that very thing; now sending all the French 
»ut of Moscow, while, at the same time, leaving in the city 
;Madame Aubert-Chalmé, whose house was the centre of the 
\vhole French population of Moscow; and now, without a 
‘ihadow of excuse, ordering the honorable director of the 
))osts, the venerable Kliucharef, to be arrested and banished ; 
}10w collecting the populace on the Tri Gorui, in order to do 
jyattle with the French, and now, in order to get rid of this 
Jame mob, giving them a man to slaughter, while he himself 
‘lipped out from a rear gate; now declaring that he would not 
\urvive the misfortune of Moscow, now writing French verses * 
‘n albums to commemorate the part that he took in these 
leeds, —this man did not appreciate the significance of the 
‘leed accomplished, but he merely desired to do something 
;umself, to astonish some one, to accomplish something patri- 
jytically heroic, and, like a child, he sported over the majestic 
}md inevitable circumstance of the abandonment snd burning 
}£ Moscow, and strove with his puny little hand now to 
/Meourage, now to stem the current of that tremendous popu- 
ar torrent which was carrying him along with it. 


‘ 


* Je suis né tartare; 
Je voulais étre romain ; 
Les francais m’appelérent barbare, 
Les russes Georges Dandin. 


I was born a Tatar. I wanted to bea Roman. The French called me a 

},arbarian, the Russians George Dandin. — AuTHOR’s Norr. (George Dan- 

| lim, a character in one of Moliére’s plays, is the type of a peasant raised te 
he nobility, and marrying a rich wife, who proves unfaithful.) 


/mibuting good-for-nothing arms to a drunken mob, now dis-’ 


> 


300 WAR AND PEACE. 


CHAPTER VI. 


Eviten, who had returned with the court from Vilno to 
Petersburg, found herself in a trying and delicate situation. 

At Petersburg, Ellen enjoyed the special protection: of a 
grandee who held one of the most important offices in the 
empire. 

But at Vilno she had become intimate with a young foreign 
prince. When she returned to Petersburg, the prince and the 
erandee were both in town; both claimed their rights, and 
Ellen found that she had to face a new problem in her career: 
to preserve her intimacy with both without offending either. 

What would have seemed difficult and even impossible for 
any other woman did not cause the Countess Bezukhaya even 
a moment’s hesitation, thereby proving that it was not in vain 
she enjoyed the reputation of being a very clever woman, If 
she had tried to hide her actions, to employ subterfuge in 
escaping from an awkward position, she would, by that very 
method, have spoiled her game by confessing herself guilty. 
But Ellen, on the contrary, openly after the manner of a 
truly great man, who can do anything that he pleases, as- 
sumed that she was in the right, as she really believed, anc 
that all the rest of the world were in the wrong. 

The first time when the young foreign personage ark: | 
himself to reproach her, she, proudly holding high her beau- 
tiful head, and looking at him over her shoulder, said) 
steadily, — 

“Here is an example of man’s egotism and cruelty! I might 
have expected it. A woman sacrifices herself for you, and this 
is her reward! What right have you, monseigneur, to hold 
me to account for my friendships, for my affections ? This 
man has been more than a father to me.” * 

The personage began to make some answer. Ellen inter: 
rupted him. “Well, then, grant it!” said she, “perhaps he 
has for me other sentiments than those of a father; but that is 
no reason why I should shut my door to him. T am nota 
man that I should be ungrateful. I would have you under: 
stand, monseigneur, that'in all that touches my private feel- 
ings, [am accountable only to God and my conscience,” she. 
said, in conclusion, and pressed her hand to her beautiful, 
heaving bosom, with a glance toward heaven. 


* Voila l’égoisme et la cruauté des hommes, ete. 


WAR AND PEACE. 301] 


“But, for God’s sake, listen to me.” 
“ Marry me and [ will be your slave.” 
“ But it is impossible.” 
“You are too proud to stoop to marriage with me, you *”? — 
iaid Ellen, bursting into tears. 
_ The personage tried to console her. Ellen, through her tears, 
leclared (as though she had forgotten herself) that no one 
ould prevent her from marrying; that there were examples 
i-at that time there were few examples, but she mentioned 
Napoleon and other men of high degree; that she had never 
een to her husband what the name of wife implies; and that 
he had been led to the altar as a sacrifice. 
| “ But laws, religion” — murmured the personage, beginning 
0 yield. 
| “Laws, religion! Why were they ever invented, if they 
ould not help in such a case as this?” 
_ The exalted personage was amazed that such a simple line 
f reasoning had never entered his mind, and he apphed for 
dyice to the holy brethren of the Society of Jesus, with whom 
-e stood in intimate relationship. 
| A few days later, at one of the enchanting fétes which.Ellen 
lave at her datcha, or suburban residence, on the Kamennoi 
‘strof, M. de Jobert, wn Jéswite & robe courte, a fascinating man, 
0 longer young, with hair as white as snow, and with dark, 
littering eyes, was presented to her; and for a long time, as 
aey sat in the garden in the brilliant light of the ilhuninations, 
ad listening to the sounds of music, he conversed with her 
dout love to God, to Christ, to. the Sacred Heart of Mary, and 
out the consolations vouchsafed in this life and the life to 
me by the one true Catholic religion. 

Ellen was touched, and several times the tears stood in the 
res of both of them, and her voice trembled. 
_The dance to which a partner came to engage Ellen inter- 
tpted her interview with her future directeur de conscience ; 
jt in the evening of the following day M. de Jobert came 
one to Ellen’s, and from that time he was frequently at her 
-yuse. : 
One day he took the countess to the Catholic church, and 
ere she remained on her knees before the altar, to which she 
as brought. 

The elderly, fascinating Frenchman laid his hands on her 
tad, and, as she herself afterwards declared, she became con- 
jous of something like the fanning of a cool breeze which 


* Vous ne daignez pas descendre jusqu’a moi, vous — 





302 WAR AND PEACE. 


entered her soul. It was explained to her that this was la 
grace. +t 

Then an ablé & robe longue was introduced to her. He heard 
her confession, and granted her absolution from her sins. 

On the next day they brought her a casket in wnich was 
contained the Holy Communion, and they left,it in her house 
for her use. ; 

After a few days, Ellen, to her satisfaction, learned that she 
had now entered the true Catholic Church, and that shortly the 
pope should be informed about it, and would send her a cer: 
tain document. 

All that happened at this time around her and within her; 
all the attention lavished upon her by so many clever men, and 
expressed in such agreeable, refined forms; and the dove-like 
purity in which she now found herself — these days she con- 
stantly wore white dresses with white ribbons —all this afforded 
her great satisfaction, but she did not for a moment allow this 
satisfaction to prevent her from the attainment of her desires, 

And, as it always happens that in a matter of finesse the 
stupid man obtains more than the clever, she, comprehending 
that the object of all these words and labors consisted chiefly 
in making her pay for the privilege of conversion to Catholi- 
cism by turning over certain moneys for the advantage of Jesuit 
institutions, concerning which they had dropped various hints, 
—FEllen, before turning this money over, insisted on their 
execution in her behalf of the various formalities which would 
free her from her husband. 

In her idea, the significance of any religion consisted only 
in observing certain conventionalities, while at the same time 
allowing the gratification of human desires. 

And, with this end in view, during one of her interviews 
with her spiritual guide, she strenuously insisted on his an- 
swering her question, how far she was bound by her marriage. 

They were sitting in the drawing-room, by the window. It 
was twilight. Through the window wafted the fragrance of 
flowers. Ellen wore a white dress, which scarcely veiled her 
bosom and shoulders. The abbé, handsome and plump, with fat 
face smooth-shaven, pleasant, forceful mouth, and white hands 
‘folded on his knees, was sitting close to Ellen, and, with a 
slight smile on his lips and eyes, decorously devouring her 
beauty, was looking from time to time into her face, and ex: 
plaining his views on the question that occupied them. 

Ellen, with an uneasy smile, looked at his flowing locks, his 
smooth-shaven, dark-shaded, plump cheeks, and each momen. 










WAR AND PEACE. 303 


‘expected some new turn to the conversation. But the abbé, 
though he evidently appreciated his companion’s beauty, was 
‘earried away by the skill which he used in his arguments. 
The course of reasoning employed by the director of con- 
‘science was as follows : — 
“Jn your ignorance of the significance of what you took 
apon yourself, you plighted your troth to a man who, on his 
side, by entering into marriage without believing in the reli- 
izlous sacrament of marriage, committed sacrilege. This mar- 
‘lage had no complete significance, such as it should have. But, 
‘aevertheless, your vow binds you. You have broken it. What 
‘lave you committed thereby, péché veniel or péché mortel ? 
Venial sin, because what you have done has been without evil 
‘ntent. If you now, for the sake of having children, should 
pnter into a marriage bond, your sin might be forgiven you. 
‘But this question resolves itself into two: first? — 
“But I think,” said Ellen, suddenly. losing patience and 
seaming upon him with her fascinating smile, “I think that, 
‘iow that I have entered into the true faith, I cannot remain 
ound by what was imposed upon me by a false religion.” 
| The directeur de conscience was astonished at this solution, 
which had all the simplicity of Columbus’s ege. He was de- 
ighted by the unexpected rapidity with which his teachings 
ad met with success, but he could not refrain from following 
ut the train of thought which he had elaborated with so much 
yains. 
_ “Tet us understand each other, comtesse,” he said, with a 
: mile, and he proceeded to refute his spiritual daughter’s rea~ 
oning. 


CHAPTER VII. 


> ELLen understood that the matter was very simple and easy 
‘rom the religious standpoint, but that her spiritual directors 
tood out against it simply because they were apprehensive 
‘f the way it might strike the temporal powers. 

- And, consequently, Ellen resolved that it was necessary for 
“ociety to be prepared for this eventuality. She aroused the 
Id grandee’s jealousy, and told him exactly what she had said 
0 her first suitor; in other words, she made him understand 
hat the only way of establishing his rights over her was to 
arry her. 

' The aged personage, at the first moment, was just as much 
stonished as the young personage had been at this proposal 





304 WAR AND PEACE. 


of marrying during the husband's lifetime. But Ellen’s im 
perturbable assurance that this was as simple and natural as 
the marriage of a virgin, had its effect even on him. If there 
had been noticed the slightest symptom of vacillation, shame, 
or underhandedness on Ellen’s part, then her game woul 
have undoubtedly been lost; but, on the contrary, she, with 
simple and good-natured naiveté, told her nearest friends (ant 
this was all Petersburg) that both the grandee and the prince 
had proposed to her, and that she was in love with both of 
them, and afraid of paining either. 

The rumor was instantly bruited through Petersburg — not 
that Ellen desired to obtain a divorce from her husband: if 
this report had been current, very many would have protestet 
against such a lawless proceeding —that the unhappy, inter- 
esting Ellen was in perplexity as to which of the two men she 
should marry. ; 

The question was not at all how far this was permissible, 
but which party was the most desirable, and how the court 
looked upon it. There were, to be sure, a few obdurate people, 
who were unable to rise to the height of this question, and who 
saw in this project a profanation of the marriage sacrament; 
but such people were tew, and they held their peace, while the 
majority were merely interested in the question which Ellen 
would choose, and which choice were the better. As to the 
question whether it were right or wrong to marry a second 
time during the lifetime of the first husband, nothing was 
said, because this question had been evidently settled for 
people “who were wiser than you and me” (so they said), and 
to express any doubt of the correctness of such a settlement 
of the question was to run the risk of showing one’s stupidity 
and one’s ignorance of society. 

Marya Dmitrievna Akhrasimova, who had gone that summer 
to Petersburg to visit one of her sons, was the only one who 
permitted herself frankly to express her opinion, though it 
was in direct contravention to that of society in general. 
Meeting Ellen one time at a ball, Marya Dmitrievna stopped 
her in the middle of the ballroom, and in her loud voice, whieh 
rang through the silence, she said, — F 

“So you propose to marry again while your other husband 
is alive! Perhaps you think you have discovered something 
new!—You have been forestalled, mdtushka. This thing 
was invented long ago. Inallthe..... they do the same 
thing.” . 

And with these words Marya Dmitrievna, with that charac 


WAR AND PEACE. 305 


‘teristic, threatening gesture of hers, turned back her flowing 
sleeves, and, glancing sternly around, passed through the 
‘room. 

* Marya Dmitrievna, although she was feared, was regarded 
im Petersburg as facetious, and therefore, in the words which 
she spoke to Ellen, they merely took notice of her use of the 
‘coarse word, and repeated it in a whisper, supposing that 
therein lay all the salt of her remark. 

Prince Vasil, who of late had grown peculiarly forgetful, 
and repeated himself a hundred times, said to his daughter 
‘whenever he chanced to see her, — 

“ Héléne, j’at un mot a vous dire,” he would say to her, draw- 
‘ing her to one side and giving her hand a pull. “J'ai eu vent 
de certains projets rélatifs @— vous savez. Hh bien, ma chére 
‘enfant, vous savez que mon cwur de pére se réjouit de vous savoir 
vous avez tant souffert. — Mais chére enfant, — ne consultez 
que votre ceur. C'est tout ce que je vous dis.” * 

And, hiding the emotion that always overmastered him, he 
would press his cheek to his daughter’s, and go away. 

Bilibin had not lost his reputation of being a clever man, 
‘and as he had been a disinterested friend of Ellen’s, one of 
those friends whom brilliant women always manage to attach 
-to them, — men who may be relied upon never to change from 
friend to lover, —he once, en petit comité, gave Ellen the benefit 
of his views in regard toall this business. “ Ecoutez, Bilibin,” 
said Ellen, who always called all such friends as Bilibin by 
their last names, —and she laid her white hand, blazing with 
‘rings, on his coat-sleeve: “Tell me as you would a sister, what 
ought I to do? Which one of the two?” 

Bilibin knitted his brows, and sat reflecting with a smile on 
his lips. : 

“You do not take me by surprise, do you know,” said he. 
As a true friend I have thought and thought about your 
affairs. You see. If you marry the prince” — (that was the 
young man)—he bent over his finger— “you lose forever 
your chance of marrying the other one, and, besides, you offend 
the court.— As you are aware, there is some sort of relation- 
ship. But if you marry the old count, you will make his last 
days happy, and then as the widow of the great — the prince 


) 
4 








**« Bllen, I have a word to say to you. I have heard rumors of certain pro- 
jects concerning — you know who. — Well, my dear child, you know that my 
gaternal heart would rejoice to feel — you have had.so much to endure. — 
But, dear child, —consult only your own heart. That is all that I have te 
say. 


VOL. 8. — 20. 


306 WAR AND PEACE. 


will not make a misalliance in contracting a marriage with 


you.” * , 
“Void un veritable ami! a true friend!” eried Ellen radi- 
antly, and once more laying her hand on his sleeve. “But the 


trouble is that I love both of them; I should not wish to pain 


either of them. I would sacrifice my life to make both of 
them happy,” said she. 


Bilibin shrugged his shoulders as much as to say that even 


he himself could not endure such a grievous thing? 


“Une maitressefemme! That is what is called stating the 


question squarely. She would like to have all three as hus- 
bands at once!” thought Bilibin. “But tell me how your 


husband is going to look upon this matter,” he asked, trusting 
to the solid foundation of his reputation, and therefore having | 
no fear of hurting himself by such an artless question. “Will 


he consent ? ” 


“Ah! il m’aime tant! He. loves me so!” cried Ellen, who 
had somehow conceived the notion that Pierre also loved her!) 


‘“‘He will do anything for me!” 


Bilibin again puckered his forehead, so as to give intimation 


of the approaching mot. “ Méme le divorce?” he asked. 

Ellen laughed. 

Among those who permitted themselves to doubt the legality 
of the proposed marriage was Ellen’s mother, the Princess 


Kuragina. She was constantly tortured by jealousy of her 


daughter, and now when the chject that especially aroused this 
jealousy was the one dearest to the princess’s heart, she could 
not even endure the thought of it. She consulted with a Rus- 
sian priest in regard to how far divorce and marriage during 
the life of the husband were permissible, and the priest 
informed ‘her that this was impossible, and to her delight 
pointed out to her the Gospel text, where it is strictly forbid- 
den to marry again during the life of a husband. 
_ Armed with these arguments, which seemed to her irrefu- 
table, the princess drove to her daughter’s early one morning, 
so as to find her alone. 

After listening to her mother’s objections, Ellen smiled a sweet 
but satirical smile. “Here it is said in somany words,” said the 
old princess. “ He who ever shall marry her who is put away ”— 


* Vous ne me_prenez en rasplokh, vous savez. Comme véritable ami j'ai 
pensé et repensé a votre affaire. Voyez vous. Si vous épousez le prince, vous 
perdez pour toujours la chance @épouser autre, et puis vous mécontentez la 
Cour (comme vous savez, il y aune éspeéce de parenté). Mais sr vous épousez 
le vieux comte vous faties le bonheur de ses derniers jours, et puis comme 
veuve du grand —le prince ne fait plus de mésalliance en vous épousant. 





WAR AND PEACE. 207 


» “Ah, maman, ne dites pas de bétises. Don’t talk nonsense. 
You do not understand at all. Dans ma position jai des 
_devoirs,’ interrupted Ellen, changing the conversation into 
: French, since it always seemed to her that the Russian brought 
out a certain lack of definiteness in this transaction of hers. 
| “But, my dear” — 
“Ah, maman/ Can’t you understand that the Holy Father, 
who has the right to grant dispensations ”” — 
| At this instant the lady companion who lived at Ellen’s 
-eame in to announce that his highness was in the drawing: 
‘room and wished to see her. 
_ “No, tell him that I do not wish to see him, that I am 
furious with him because he has broken his word!” 
_ Comtesse, a tout péché miséricorde! There is a pardon 
\for every sin!” said a fair young man, with a long face and 
long nose, who came into the room. 
_ The old princess arose most respectfully and courtesied ; 
| the young man who came in paid no attention whatever to 
her. The princess nodded to her daughter and sailed out. 
_ “Yes, she is right,” mused the old princess, all of whose con- 
‘victions were dissipated by the sight of his highness. “She 
is right. But how was it we did not know this in those days 
which will never return, when we were young’ And it is 
such a simple thing,” mused the old princess, as she took her 
seat in her carriage. 


Toward the beginning of August, Ellen’s affairs were en- 
tirely settled, and she wrote her husband —who was so fond 
-of her as she thought —informing him of her intention of 
-InNarrying N.N., and that she had embraced the one true 
Teligion, and begging him to fulfil all the indispensable for- 
/malities of the divorce, in regard to which the bearer of her’ 
letter would give due particulars. ‘And so I pray God, my 
dear, to have you in his holy and mighty protection. 
| “Your Friend, ELLEN.” * 


CHAPTER VIII. 





Towarp the end of the battle of Borodino, Pierre, fleeing for 
the second time from the Rayevsky battery, joined a throng 
of soldiers hurrying along the ravine to Kniazkovo, and came 


* “ Sur ce jeprie Dieu, mon ami, de vous avoir sous sa sarnte et purssanie 
garde. Votre Amie, Héléne,” 


) 





308 WAR AND PEACE. 


to the field lazaret, and there seeing blood, and hearing cries and 
groans, he hurried on, mingling with the throngs of soldiers. 

The one thing which Pierre now desired with all the powers 
of his soul was to escape as soon as possible from these ter- 
rible scenes through which he had lived that day, to return to 
the ordinary conditions of every-day life, and to sleep calmly 
in his own bed, in his own room. He was conscious that only 
by getting back to ordinary conditions would he be able to 
understand himself and all that he had seen and experienced. 
But these ordinary conditions of life were non-existent. 

Although cannon-balls and bullets were not whistling along 
this part of the road where he was walking, still there was on 
all sides of him what he had seen on the battle-field. There 
were the same suffering, tortured, and sometimes strangely in- 
different physiognomies, the same gore, the same military 
cloaks, the same sounds of firing although softened by dis- 
tance, but still causing ever new horror, and, beside, this 
suffocating heat and dust. 

Proceeding three versts along the great Mozhaisk highway, 
Pierre sat down on the edge of it. 

Twilight had settled down on the earth, and the roar of 
artillery had died away. Pierre leaned his head on his hands 
and sat in this posture for a long time, watching the shadows 
trooping by him in the dusk. It constantly seemed to him as 
though a cannon-shot were flying down upon him with that 
terrible screech. He began to tremble and got up. He had no 
idea how long a time he had been delaying there. Late in the 
night, three soldiers, dragging down some brushwood, started | 
a fire near him and made themselves at home. These soldiers, 
looking askance at Pierre, kindled their fire, put their kettle 
on it, crumbled hard-tack into it, and laid on their salt pork. | 

The agreeable savor of appetizing viands and of frying min- 
gled with the odor of the smoke. Pierre stood up and drew | 
asigh. The soldiers —there were three of them — were eat- 
ing and conversing together and paid no heed to Pierre. 

“Well, what corps are you from?” suddenly asked one of 
the soldiers, addressing Pierre, and evidently, by this question, 
wishing to signify and Pierre understood it so, “If you want 
something to eat we will give it to you; only tell us if you 
are an honest man.” 

“What? I? 1?” stammered Pierre, feeling it incum-| 
bent upon him to belittle his social position so far as possible, 
so as to be nearer and more accessible to the soldiers: 

“Tam at present an officer of the landsturm; only I have, 


WAR AND PEACE. 309 


“missed my corps; I went into the battle and got separated 
| from my men.” 

“To think of it!” * said one of the soldiers. 

One of the others shook his head. 
“Well, have something to eat, if you’d like our mess,” said 
the first, and after licking off the wooden spoon he handed it 
to Pierre. 
_ Pierre sat down by the fire and began to eat the pottage 
‘which was in the kettle, and which seemed to him the most 
palatable of anything he had ever tasted in his life. While 
he greedily bent over the kettle, fishing out great spoonfuls 
and swallowing them down one after another, his face was 
lighted by the fire, and the soldiers silently studied him. 
| “Where do you want to go? Tell us that!” asked one of 
‘them again. 
' “T want to go to Mozhaisk.” 

“You are a barin, I suppose ?” 

FY es.” 

“ And what’s your name ?” 
«© Piotr Kirillovitch.” 
| “Well, Piotr Kirillovitch, come on, we’ll show you the way.” 
In utter darkness the soldiers and Pierre went toward 
“Mozhaisk. 
' The cocks were already crowing when they came near the 
‘town and began to climb the steep slope that led to it. Pierre 
went on with the three men, entirely forgetting that his 
tavern was below at the foot of the hill, and that he had 
‘already gone beyond it. He would not have remembered it at 
‘all —he had got into such a state of apathy —if half-way up 
the hill he had not accidentally fallen in with his equerry, 
Who had been searching for him in the town, and was on his 
‘way back to the tavern. 
_ “Your illustriousness,” he exclaimed, “we have been in 
‘perfect despair! What! Are youon foot? Where have you 
‘been, please ? ” 
~ “Oh, yes!” replied Pierre. 
The soldiers paused. 
“So, then, you have found your men, have you?” asked 
ome of them. 
“Well, good-by !¢ Piotr Kirillovitch ; it’s all right, is it?” 
/—“ Good-by, Piotr Kirillovitch!” cried the other voices. 
— “Good-by,” said Pierre, and he started back with his 
?querry to the tavern. | 


* Vish tui. t Prashchavai. 





310 | WAR AND PEACE. 


“T ought to give them something,” thought Pierre, feeling 
in his pocket. “But no, it is not necessary,” said some voice 
within him. 

There was no room for Pierre anywhere in the tavern; all 
the beds were taken. Pierre went out into the yard, and, 
wrapping up his head, lay down in his calash. | 


CHAPTER IX. 


PrerReE had hardly laid his head on his extemporized pillow 
before he felt himself going off to sleep; but suddenly, with 
almost the vividness of reality, he heard the bam/ bam! 
bum / of the firing, he heard cries, groans, the thudding of 
missiles, he smelt blood and gunpowder; and a feeling of 
horror and the terror of death took possession of him. ) 

He opened his eyes in a panic, and lifted his head from his 
cloak. All was quiet in the dvor. Only at the gates, talking 
with the dvornik, and splashing through the mud, some one’s 
man was walking up and down. Over his head, under the 
dark underside of the shed roof, the pigeons were fluttering 
their wings, startled by the movement which he had made in 
raising himself. The whole dvor was full of that powerful 
barnyard odor, which, at that instant, delighted Pierre’s heart 
—the odor of hay, of manure, and of tar. Through a chink 
in the shed roof he could see the clear, starry sky. 

“Thank God, there is no more of that,” said Pierre to him: 
self, again covering up his head. “Oh! whata terrible panic, 
and how shameful to give way to it. But-they —they were 
calm and firm even to the very end,” his thoughts ran on, 
They, in Pierre’s soliloquy, meant the soldiers who had been 
in the battery, those who had given him food, and those who 
had worshipped before the ikon. They —he had never know 
them till now — they were clearly and sharply separated front 
all other men. . 

“To be a soldier, a simple soldier,” thought Pierre, as he 
fell off to sleep. “To enter into that common life with all 
my being, to learn the secret of what makes them what they 
are! But how to get rid of this superfluous, devilish weight 
of the external man? Once I might have been such. [| 
might have run away from my father’s house, as I wanted to 
do. I might even after my duel with Dolokhof have been sent 
off as a common soldier.” ti 

And before Pierre’s imagination arose the dinner at the 





WAR AND PEACE. 311 


elub, when he challenged Dolokhof, and his visit to the 
Benefactor at Torzhok. And here Pierre recalled the Masonic 
Lodge at Torzhok. This Lodge was installed at the English 
Club. And some one whom he knew well, some one _ inti- 
mately connected with his life, and dear to him, was sitting 
at the end of the table. Yes, it was he! It was the Bene- 
factor ! 

“Yes, and did he not die?” mused Pierre. “ Yes, he was 
dead; I did not know that he was alive. And how sorry I 
‘elt that he was dead, and how glad I am that he is alive 
again!” 

_ On one side of the table sat Anatol, Dolokhof, Nesvitsky, 
Denisof, and others of the same sort, — the category of these 
nen was just as clearly defined in his dream in Pierre’s mind 
us the category of the men whom he had spoken of as they ; 
ind these men — Anatol, Dolokhof, and the rest — were shout- 
ng and singing at the top of their voices; but above their 
shouts he could hear the Benefactor’s voice talking incessantly, 
id the ring of his voice was as significant and continuous 
is the roar of the battle-field, but he was soothed and com- 
‘orted by it. | 

. Pierre did not comprehend what the Benefactor was saying, 
ut he knew — the category of his thoughts was so clear in his 
lream — that the Benefactor was talking about goodness, and 
he possibility of being the same manner of man as they were. 
ind they came from all sides and surrounded the Benefactor 
vith their simple, good, steadfast faces. But, although they 
vere good, they did not look at Pierre, did not know him. 
*ierre Was anxious to attract their attention and to talk. He 
tarted to get up, but his legs were cold and uncovered. 

He was ashamed of himself, and was going to cover his 
2g8, from which his cloak had actually slipped off. While 
“lerre was covering himself up again, he opened his eyes and 
aw the same shed, the same beams, the same dvor, but every- 
ding was enveloped in a bluish light, and sparkled with dew 
r frost. 

“Daybreak!” thought Pierre. “But this is not what I 
‘ant. I must listen, hear, and understand the Benefactor’s 
ords.” . 

| He again wrapped himself in his cloak, but there was no 
‘nger any Masonic Lodge; the Benefactor was gone. There 
‘ere simply thoughts, clearly expressed in words, thoughts 
hich either some one spoke or which Pierre himself ima- 
ned. 


312 WAR AND PEACE. 


When he afterwards came to recall these thoughts, although 
they were evidently superinduced by the impressions of the 
day, Pierre was convinced that some one outside of himself 
spoke them to him. 

Never, so it seemed to him, while awake, had he been able 
to think such thoughts or to express them in such language. 

“The hardest thing for man to do is to subordinate his free- 
dom tothe laws of God,” said the voice. “Singleness is sub- 
mission to God; thou canst not escape from him, And they 
are single-hearted. They do not talk, they act. Speech is 
silver, but silence is gold. Man can never get the mastery, 
since he is afraid of death. Whoso feareth not death, all 
things shall be added unto him. If it were not for suffering, 
man would not know his limitations, would not know himself.” 
“The hardest thing,” continued Pierre either to think or to 
hear in his dream, “consists in being able to co-ordinate in the 
soul the knowledge of all things. To co-ordinate all things ?” 
Pierre was asking. “No, not to co-ordinate. It is impossible 
to co-ordinate thoughts; but to take apart and analyze: that 
is what is necessary! Yes, to take apart, to take apart,” said) 
Pierre, repeating the word over to himself with inward enthu- 
siasm, conscious that by just these, and by these words only, 
could be expressed what he desired to express, and have the 
question decided that was forever tormenting him. 

“ Yes, take apart, time to take apart.” 

“We must make a start, time to make a start,* your illus- 
triousness,” repeated some voice at his ear. “Must make a 
start, time to start.” 

It was the voice of the equerry trying to rouse Pierre. The 
sun was shining full in Pierre’s face. Helooked at the muddy 
yard of the dvor, in the centre of which, around the well, sol- 
diers were watering lean horses, and from the gates of whieli 
trains were starting away. Pierre turned away with disgust, 
and, closing his eyes, made haste to roll over again on the car: 
riage seat. ' 

“No, I do not wish this, I do not wish to see this or ti 
understand it; I wish to comprehend what was revealed to 
me while I was dreaming. Just one second more, and I shoul 
have understood it all. Now, what must I do? To take apart, 
yes, but how take apart ?” | | 

And Pierre found to his dismay that the whole significance 


* Pjerre’s confusion of dreaming and waking ideas is caused by the sim): 
larity between “‘ sopriagdt,” to unite, join, and ‘‘ zapriagdl,”’ to hitch up, har- 
ness horses. A 








WAR AND PEACE. 313 


‘of what he had seen and thought out in his dream had gone 
‘to destruction. 

His equerry, the coachman, and the dvornik all told Pierre 
that an officer had come with tidings that the French were 
“Moving on Mozhaisk, and that they must start, and that our 
forces were leaving. 

Pierre got up and gave orders to have his horses harnessed 
-and to overtake him, as he was gomeg to walk through the 
(town. 

__ The troops had started, leaving about ten thousand wounded. 
‘Phese wounded could be seen in the yards and windows of 
‘the houses, and were met with in throngs along the streets. 
The streets where stood the telyegas that were to carry away 
‘the wounded were full of cries, curses, and the sounds of 
| blows. 

Pierre overtook a wounded general of his acquaintance and 
‘offered him a seat in his calash, and they drove on toward 
Moscow together. On the road Pierre heard of the death of 

his brother-in-law and of the death of Prince Andrei. 


CHAPTER X. 


On the eleventh of September Pierre arrived at Moscow. 
‘He had scarcely reached the barrier when he was met by one 
of Count Rostopchin’s adjutants. 

“Well, we have been searching for you everywhere,” said 
the adjutant. /“The count is very anxious to see you. He 
‘begs that you will come to him immediately on very impor- 
tant business.” 

“Pierre, without even going first to his own house, called an 
‘izvoshchik and rode to the governor-general’s. 

Count Rostopchin had only that morning come to town 
from his suburban datcha at Sokdlniki. The anteroom and 
“reception-room of the count’s residence were full of officials 
‘who had come at his summons or to get orders. Vasilchikof 
‘and Platof had already had an interview with the count, and 
‘had informed him that it was impossible to defend Moscow, 
‘and that it must be abandoned. This news was concealed 
‘from the inhabitants, yet the chinovniks, the heads of the 
various departments, knew that Moscow would soon be in 
‘the hands of the enemy just as well as Count Rostopchin 
knew it; and all of them, in order to shirk responsibility, 


4 





314 WAR AND PEACE. 


came to the governor-general with inquiries as to what they 
should do in their respective jurisdictions. 
Just as Pierre entered the reception-room, a courier from 
the army left the count’s room. 
The courier made a despairing gesture in answer to the 
questions directed to him, and passed through the room. __ 
On entering, Pierre, with weary eyes, gazed at the various 
chinovniks, old and young, military and civil, who were wait- 
ing in the room. All seemed anxious and ill at ease. | 
Pierre joined one group of chinovniks, among whom he saw| 
an acquaintance. After exchanging greetings with Pierre 
they went on with their conversation. | 
“Whether they exile him or let him come back, there’s no} 
telling; you can’t answer for anything in such a state of 
affairs.” 
“Well, here’s what he writes,” said another, calling atten- 
tion to a printed broadside which he held in his hand. 
“That’s another thing. That’s necessary for the people,” 
said the first speaker. | 
“What is that ?” asked Pierre. ay 
“This is the new bulletin.” | 
Pierre took it and read as follows : — 


“* His serene highness, the prince, in order to effect a junction as soon 
as possible with the troops coming to meet him, has passed through 
Mozhaisk and occupied a strong position where the enemy will not find it 
easy to reach him. Forty-eight cannon, with ammunition, have been 
sent to him from here, and his serene highness declares that he will shed 
the last drop of his blood in defence of Moscow, and that he is ready to | 
fight even in the streets. Brothers, do not be surprised, that. the courts of | 
justice have ceased to transact business: it was best to send them to a/ 
place of safety, but the evil-doer shall have a taste of the law all the 
same. When the crisis comes, I shall want some gallant fellows, from | 
both town and country. I shall utter my call a day or two before, but | 
it is not necessary yet. I hold my peace, An axe is a good weapon; a | 
boar-spear is not bad, but best of all is a three-tined pitchfork : a French- | 
_ man is no heavier than a sheaf of rye. To-morrow, after dinner, I shall | 
take the Iverskoya to the Yekaterininskaya Hospital, to the wounded. | 
There we will bless the water: they will all the sooner get well, and I now | 
am well; I have hada bad eye, but now I see out of both.” 


“But military men,” said Pierre, “have told me that it was | 
perfectly impossible to fight in the city, and that the posi- | 
tion 7? — : 

“Well, yes, that is just what we were talking about,” inter. | 
rupted the first chinoynik. 

“But what does he mean by saying: ‘I have had a bad || 
eye, but now I see out of both’ ?” asked Pierre. | 


. 0 
4 
} 


{ 





! WAR AND PEACE. 315 


, “The count had a stye,” replied the adjutant, with a smile, 
“and he was very much disturbed when I told him that peo- 
(ole were calling to ask what was the matter with him. But 
ow is it, count?” said the adjutant abruptly, addressing 
Pierre with a smile. “We have heard the rumor that you 
oo domestic tribulations, —that the countess, your 
oWaLe ““ — 

_ “T have heard nothing,” replied Pierre indifferently ; “what 
\s this rumor ? ” - 
; “Oh, well, you know, stories are often invented. I am 
only saying what I heard.” 

| “But what did you hear ? ” 

. “Well, they say,” replied the adjutant, with the same 
smile, “that the countess, your wife, is about to go abroad. 
Jf course, it is all nonsense ”’ — 

_ “Perhaps so,” said Pierre, heedlessly glancing around. 

_ “But who is that?” he asked, referring to an old man of 
‘ow stature, in a clean blue chuika,* and with an enormous 
eard as white as the driven snow, eyebrows the same, and a 
lorid complexion. 

“He? That’s a merchant: that is, he is the tavern-keeper 
‘Vereshchagin. — Perhaps you have heard that story about the 
oroclamation ? ” 

“Ah! And so that is Vereshchagin,” exclaimed Pierre, gaz- 
‘ng into the calm, self-reliant face of the old merchant, and 
aying to discover in it any characteristics of a traitor. 

“Yes, that is the very man. That is, he is the father of the 
‘me who wrote the proclamation,” said the adjutant. “The 
‘young man is in jail, and it looks as if it would go hard with 
“um.” 

: A little old man with a star, and another chinovnik, a 
‘Jerman, with a cross suspended around his neck, joined the 
roup. 

“You see,” proceeded the adjutant with his story, “it is a 
yuzzling piece of business. This proclamation appeared a 
‘ouple of months back. It was brought to the count. He 
mrdered it investigated. Gavrilo Ivanuitch here looked into 
»t; this proclamation passed through as many as sixty-three 
jands. We go to a certain man: ‘Whom did you get this 
tom ?’ —‘ From so-and-so’ — Off to him: ‘ Whom did you get 
-his from ?’ and so on, till it was traced to Vereshchagin — 
in ignorant little merchant. They ask him: ‘Whom did you 









* A sort of kaftan, or overcoat, like a dressing-gown, worn by men of the 
ower Classes in Russia. 


316 WAR AND PEACE. 


have this from?’ And here you must understand that we 
know whom he got it from; from no one else than the director 
of posts. There had been for some time connivance between 
them. But he says: ‘I didn’t get it from anyone. I wrote it 
myself.’ They threatened and entreated : he stuck to it — wrote 
it himself. Well, now, you know the count,” said the adju- | 
tant with a proud, gay smile. “He flew into a terrible rage, but 
just think of it, —such cunning, falsehood, and stubbornness ! ” 
_“Ah! the count wanted them to implicate Kliucharef, I | 
understand,” said Pierre. | 
“Not at all,” said the adjutant, startled. “They had sins 

enough to lay against Kliucharef without this; that was why | 
he was sent away. But the truth of the matter was, that the | 
count was very much stirred up.—‘How could you have | 
written it?’ asked the count. He picked up from the table | 
this Hamburg paper. ‘Here itis. You did not write it, but 
you translated it, and you translated it atrociously, because | 
even in French you are an idiot —durak —don’t you know ? 
— Now, what do you think ?’ — ‘No,’ says he, ‘I have never 
read any papers, I composed it.’ —‘ Well, if that is so, you are | 
a traitor and I will have yon e tried and hanged. Confess! from 
whom did you receive it ? ‘[ have never seen any papers. 
I composed it myself!’ na Yi so it hung fire. The count|| 
called the father also. He stood by his own. And they || 
handed them over to court, and, it seems, they condemned 
him to penal labor. Now the father has come to intercede 
for him. But what a wretched chap! You know the kind — 
these merchants’ sons, a regular macaroni! a seducer! got a 
few lessons, and thinks himself a shade better than any one 
else.* That is the kind of a fellow he is. And his father 
keeps a traktir there by the Kamennoi Bridge —you know 
there’s a big picture of Almighty God, who is represented 
with a sceptre in one hand and the imperial globe in the 
other, — well, he took this picture home for a few days, and 
what do you think he did? He found a beastly painter 
who” — 





CHAPTER XI. 


In the midst of this new anecdote, Pierre was summoned | 
to the governor-general. 

Pierre went into Count Rostopchin’s cabinet. Rostopchin, 
scowling, was rubbiug his forehead and eyes with his hand as 


* Literall ‘thinks that the devil is not his brother any more.” 
y: hf 





i 
| WAR AND PEACE. 817 
fi 


Pierre entered. A short man was saying something, but as 
‘Pierre approached he stopped and left the room. 

' “Well, how are you, mighty warrior?” exclaimed Rostop- 
‘ehin, as soon'as this man had gone. “We have heard about 
‘your prouesses. But that is not to the point just now. Mon 
“cher, entre nous, you are a Mason ?” asked Count Rostopchin 
‘im a stern tone, as though there were something wrong in that, 
but that he was ready to grant his forgiveness. 

(_ Pierre made no reply. “ Mon cher, je suis bien-informé, but 
a know that there are Masons and Masons, and I hope that 
‘you don’t belong to that set who, under the appearance of 
‘saving the human race, are doing their best to ruin Russia.” 
“Yes, Iam a Mason,” replied Pierre. 

fi “Well, then, look here, my dear, I think that you are not 
ignorant of the fact that Messrs. Speransky and Magnitsky 
have been sent somewhere; the same thing has happened to 
“Mr. Kliucharef, and the same thing has happened to others 
: besides, who, under the appearance of erecting Solomon’s 
‘temple, have been trying to overturn the temple of their 
‘country. You can understand that there are reasons for this, 
and that I could not have sent off the director of posts here 
if he had not been a dangerous man. Now I am informed 
that you provided him with a carriage to take him from the 
city, and also that you received from him papers for safe- 
keeping. I like you and I do not wish you ill, and, as I am 
‘more than twice your age, I advise you as a father to cut 
aoe all dealings w:th this sort of people, and to leave Mos- 
cow as speedily as possible.” 

“But wherein, count, was Kliucharef to blame?” asked 
Pierre. 

_ “That is my affair to know, and not yours to ask,” cried 
Rostopchin. . 

“He was accused of having circulated Napoleon’s proclama- 
tion, but it was not proved against him,” said Pierre, not look- 
ing at Rostopchin, “‘and Vereshchagin ”— 
| © Nous y voila —that is just the point,” interrupted Rostop- 
| chin, scowling suddenly, and speaking much louder than before. 
“Vereshchagin is a traitor and a renegade, who has received 
the punishment which he richly deserves,” said Rostopchin, 
with that heat and ugliness characteristic of men at the recol- 
lection of an insult. “But I did not summon you to criticise 
my actions, but to give you some advice, or a command if you 
/orefer that term. I beg of you to forego your dealings with 
3uch gentlemen as Kliucharef and to leave town. I’ll knock 











318 WAR AND PEACE., 


the folly out of any one, no matter who it is;” but, apparently 
discovering that he was actually screaming at Bezukhoi, who 
was not as yet in any respect to blame, he added in French, 
cordially seizing Pierre’s hand, “We are on the eve of a 
public disaster, and I have no time to make civil speeches to 
all who come to see me. My head is sometimes in a whirl. — 
Now then, my dear, what will you do — you personally ? ” 

“Nothing at all,” replied Pierre, not lifting his eyes and 
not altering the expression of his thoughtful face. 

The count frowned: “Take the advice of a friend, my dear. 
Make off, and as soon as possible: that is all that I have 


to say to you. Fortunate is he who has ears to hear. Good-_ 


by, my dear.* Qh, here,’’ he shouted to him as he left the 
room, “is it true that the countess has fallen into the paws of 
the saints péres de la Société de Jésus?” 


Pierre made no reply, and scowling, and angry as he had- 


never been seen before, he left Rostopchin’s. 


When he reached home it was already dark. Eight differ- 


ent people came to see him that evening, —the secretary of a. 


committee, the colonel of his battalion, his overseer, his major- 
domo, and several petitioners. All had business with Pierre 
which he was obliged to settle. Pierre could not understand 
at all, he was not interested in such matters, and he gave only 
such replies to all questions as would soonest rid him of these 
people. 

At last, when he was left alone, he broke the seal of his 
wife’s letter, and read it. 

“ They —the soldiers in the battery; Prince Andrei killed 
— the old man — singleness is submission to God. Suffering 
is necessary — the significance of things — must take apart and 
analyze —my wife is going to take another husband. One 
must forget and learn.” 

And, going to his bed, he threw himself ‘down without un- 
dressing, and immediately fell asleep. 

When he awoke the next morning, his major-domo came to 
inform him that a police chinovnik had come with a special 
message from Count Rostopchin to find whether Couns Bezu- 
khoi had gone or was going. 


* “‘ Nous sommes a la veille dun désastre publique, et je n'ai pas le temps de 
dire des gentillesses a tous ceux qui ont affaire amoi. Golovd inogdd krugom 


idyot. Eh bien, mon cher, qu’est ce que vous faites, vous, personnelle- 


ment ?”’—** Mais rien! ’’ — “ Un conseil d’ami, moncher. Décampezetaupli- — 
tot, c’est tout ce que je vous ais. bon entendeur salut. Proshchdtte, mot — 
milui!” 








WAR. AND PEACE. 319 


A dozen different people who had business with Pierre were 
, waiting for him in the drawing-room. Pierre made a hasty 
toilet, but, instead of going down to those who were waiting 
for him, he went down by the back steps and thence out 
through the gates. 

From that time forth until after the burning of Moscow, no 
one of Bezukhoi’s household, in spite of all their search for 
him, saw anything more of Pierre or knew what had become 
of him. 


CHAPTER XII. 


Tue Rostofs remained in the city up to the thirteenth of 
September, the day before the enemy entered Moscow. 
After Petya had joined Obolyensky’s Cossack regiment, and 
gone to Byelaya Tserkov, where this regiment was recruiting, 
a great fear came upon the countess.. The idea that both of 
her sons had gone to the war, that both had left the shelter of 
her wing, that to-day or to-morrdw either one of them, or per- 
haps even both of them, might be killed, as had been the case 
with the three sons of a friend of hers, for the first time now 
this summer recurred with cruel vividness to her mind. 

She endeavored to induce Nikolai to come home to her; she 
herself wanted to go to Petya, to send him to some place of 
safety in Petersburg: but both schemes seemed impracticable. 
_Petya could not be recalled except his regiment were recalled, 
or by means of having him transferred to some other working 
‘regiment. Nikolai was off somewhere with the army, and 
since his last letter, in which he described his meeting with 
the Princess Mariya, nothing had been heard from him. 
_ The countess could not sleep nights, and when she did catch 
a little nap, she saw in her dreams her sons slain. 

After many plans and discussions, the count at last found a 
means of consoling the countess’s apprehensions. He trans- 
ferred Petya from Obolyensky’s regiment to Bezukhoi’s, which 
Was mobilizing near Moscow. Although Petya remafmed in 
‘the military service, still the countess by this transfer had the 
consolation of seeing at least one of her sons, as it were, under 
_her wing, and she cherished the hope of arranging matters so 
that he would not be sent away any more, and would always 
, be assigned to such places in the service that he would not be 
| exposed in battle. 

As long as Nicolas alone was in danger, it seemed to the 
countess — and it even caused her a pang of remorse — that 


320 WAR AND PEACE. 


she loved her eldest more than her other children; but when 
her youngest, the mischievous, badly trained Petya, who was 
forever breaking things in the house, who was always in 
everybody’s way, this snub-nosed Petya with his merry dark 
eyes, his fresh, ruddy complexion, and the down just beginning 
to cloud his cheeks, went off yonder, to mingle with terrible, 
coarse, grown-up men, who were fighting, and finding a real 
pleasure in doing such things, —then it seemed to the mother 
that she loved him more, far more than all of her children. | 
The nearer the time came for her rapturously awaited Petya 
to return to Moscow, the more the countess’s uneasiness in- 
creased; she even began to imagine that she should never at- 
tain that happiness. The presence not only of Sonya, but 
even of her beloved Natasha, even her husband’s presence, 
irritated the countess. 

“What do I care for them ? I want no one else but Petya,” 
she would say to herself. 

Early in September, the Rostofs received a second letter 
from Nikolai. He wrote from the government of Voronezh, 
where he had been sent after horses. This letter did not 
soothe the countess’s apprehensions. Now that she knew one 
of her sons was out of danger, she began to worry all the more 
about Petya. 

Although almost all the Rostofs’ acquaintances had left 
Moscow, even as early as the first of September, although they | 
all tried to persuade the countess to start as soon as possible, 
she would not hear to such a thing as going until her treasure, 
her idolized Petya, should return. 

Petya came on the ninth of September. The sixteen-year- 
old officer was not pleased by the morbidly passionate affection 
with which his mother welcomed him. Although she hid 
from him her purpose not to let him fly again from under her | 
maternal wing, Petya fathomed her thoughts, and instinctively 
fearing lest he should be too soft, and “a mamma’s pet” (as 
he himself expressed it), he went to the other extreme, treated 
his mother coldly, avoided her, and during his stay in Moscow 
exclusively devoted himself to Natasha, for whom he had 
always cherished a peculiarly brotherly affection, almost as 
chivalrous as a lover’s. 

When the ninth of September arrived, thanks to the oct 
characteristic slackness, nothing was as yet ready for the 
journey, and the carts which they expected from their estate 
at Riazan and their pod-Moskovnaya to convey from the city 
all their movable property did not arrive until the twelfth, 


WAR AND PEACE. 394 


_ From the ninth until the twelfth of September, all Moscow 
was in a stir and ferment of excitement. Each day there 
poured past the Dorogomilovskaya barrier, and scattered 
through the city, thousands of those who had been wounded 
in the battle of Borodino, and thousands of teams, laden with 
the inhabitants and their belongings, passed out through the 
other barriers. 

In spite of Rostopchin’s Afishki, or in direct consequence of 
them, the strangest and most contradictory rumors were cur- 
tent throughout the city. One said that no one would be per- 
mitted to depart; another, on the contrary, declared that the 
ikons had been removed from the churches, and that all the 
inhabitants were to be sent away, whether they would or not. 
One said that there had been another battle since Borodino, in 
which the French had been beaten; another declared, to the 
contrary, that the Russian army had been annihilated. One 
said that the Moscow landsturm, together with the clergy, had 
started for Tri Gorui; another whispered that Avgustin had 
been forbidden to go away, that traitors had been caught, that 
the peasantry were in revolt and were attacking those who 
started, and so on, and so on. 

But these were merely rumors, and in substance both those 
who fled and those who were left — although this was even 
before the council at Fili, when it was definitely decided to 
abandon Moscow — all felt, even though they did not express it, 
that Moscow would assuredly be abandoned, and that they 
must make all haste to pack up and save their effects. 

There was a feeling that everything was about to go to 
pieces, and that a sudden change was imminent, but up to the 
thirteenth no change ensued. Just as a criminal, led out to 
punishment, knows that he is about to be killed, but still 
ooks around and straightens his ill-fitting cap, —so Moscow 
nvoluntarily pursued its habitual life, although it knew that 
ihe time of its destruction was at hand, when all the conven- 
jlonal conditions of its existence would be suddenly snapped ~ 
short. 

During those three days preceding the occupation of Moscow 
xy the French, all the Rostof family were absorbed in their 
farious worldly occupations. The chief of the family, Count 
_lya Andreyitch, was constantly flying about the city, picking 
tp on all sides the flying rumors, and while at home making 
uperficial and hasty arrangements for hastening their depar- 
ure. 

The countess superintended the packing of the things, but 


VOL. 3. — 21. 


322 WAR AND PEACE. 


she was in a sad state of dissatisfaction with everybody, and 
kept tagging after Petya, who avoided her, and she was 
devoured by jealousy of Natasha, with whom he spent all his 
time. 

Sonya was the only one who looked after the practical side 
of affairs: the packing of the things. But Sonya had been 
peculiarly melancholy and silent of late. The letter in which 
Nicolas had spoken of the Princess Mariya had caused the 
countess to express in her presence the most joyful auguries : 
she declared that in the interview of Nicolas and the Princess 
Mariya she saw the very hand of God.. 

“TI never felt happy at all,’ said the countess, “when 
Bolkonsky was engaged to Natasha, but I always wished that 
Nikélinka might marry the princess, and I had a presentiment 
that it would turn out so. And how good that would be!” 

Sonya felt that this was true, that the only possibility 
of retrieving the fortunes of the Rostofs was for Nikolai “to 
make a rich marriage,’*’and that the princess was an excellent 
match. 

But still it was a very bitter thing for her. In spite of her 
grief, or possibly in consequence of it, she took upon her all 
the difficult labor of arranging for packing up and stowing 
away, and was busy from morning till night. 

The count and countess addressed themselves to her when 
they had any orders to give. 

Petya and Natasha, on the other hand, not only did not help 
their parents, but for the most part were a hinderance and a 
burden to all in the house. And almost all day long the house 
echoed with their footsteps dancing about, their shouts and 
laughter. . They laughed and enjoyed themselves, not because 
there was any reason for laughter, but their hearts were full 
of life and joy, and because everything that they heard seemed 
to them a reason for laughter and gayety. 

Petya was gay because, having left home a lad, he had 
returned —as every one told him —a gallant young hero; he 
was gay because he was at home, because he had come from 
Byelaya Tserkov where there had been not even a remote 
prospect of taking part in a battle, and had come to Moscow, 
where any day they might have fighting, and above all he was 
gay because Natasha,to whose moods he always was very 
susceptible, was gay also. | 

Natasha was gay because she had been melancholy quite 
too long, and now nothing reminded her of the reason of her 
previous melancholy, and she was well! Moreover, she was” 


“WAR AND PEACE. ' 393 


gay because there was a man who flattered her — flattery was 
the wheel-grease which was absolutely essential if her machin- 
ery was to move with perfect freedom —and Petya flattered 
her. 

Chiefly they were gay because the war had come to ‘the 
very gates of Moscow, because there was a possibility of 
fighting at the barriers, because they were giving out guns, 
because there were running about and departures this way and 

that, because some great event was in the very air, and this 
is always provocative of good spirits in men, especially in the 


young. 
CHAPTER XIII. 


On Saturday, the eleventh of September, everything in the 
_Rostofs’ house seemed topsy-turvy. All the doors were open, 
all the furniture was carried off or out of place; mirrors and 

paintings were taken down. The rooms were full of packing- 
boxes and littered with hay, wrapping-paper, and pieces of 
‘twine. Muzhiks and household serfs trod over the parquetry 
floors with heavy steps as they lugged the things. In the 
dvor there was a throng of peasants’ carts, some of which 
were already, loaded and corded up, and some still empty. 

The voices and footsteps of the enormous retinue of. ser- 
vants and of the muzhiks who had come with the teams rang 
through the house and the yard. 

The count had been off since early morning. The countess, 
who had a headache as a consequence of all the bustle and 
Noise, was lying down in the new divan-room, her head wrapped 
up in vinegar compresses. Petya was not at home; he had 
gone to see a comrade with whom he proposed to change from 
the landsturm into the regular army. Sonya was busy in the 
ballroom, packing up the glassware and china. 

Natasha was sitting on the floor, in her own dismantled 
room, amid a heap of dresses, laces, and ribbons, and holding 
lifelessly in her hands an old ball-dress — the very one — how 
Out of style it was!— which she had worn ‘to her first 
Petersburg ball. Her conscience pricked her for doing noth- 
Ing while all the rest in the house were so busy, and several 
times since morning she had tried to take hold and help, but 
her heart was not in the work, and she could not and would 
mot do anything at all, unless she could do it with all her 
heart, with all her might. 

She had started to assist Sonya in packing the china, but 


324 WAR AND PEACE. 


soon dropped it and went to her own room, to dispose of her 
own things. At first she found it very good fun to distribute 
her dresses and ribbons among the maids; but afterwards, when 
what was left had to be really packed up, it began to bore her. 
“ Dunyasha, you will put them in for me, that’s a darling ! * 
won't you?” : : 
‘ And when Dunyasha willingly agreed to do it all for her, 
Natasha sat down on the floor, and picked up her old ball-dress, 
and her thoughts turned in an entirely different channel from : 
what they should have done. She was aroused from the brown | 
study into which she had fallen by the chatter of the maids in | 
the adjoining room, and by the sounds of their hurried steps 
as they ran from this room toward the rear of the house. 
Natasha got up and looked out of the window. 
An enormous train of wounded men had come to a halt in | 
the street. : 
The maids, the lackeys, the housekeeper, the old nyanya, 
the cooks, the coachmen, the postilions, the scullions, all 
were standing at the gates, gazing at the wounded. : 
Natasha, throwing a white handkerchief over her hair, and 
holding the ends with both hands, ran down into the street. 
The former housekeeper, the old Mavra Kuzminitchna, 
broke through the crowd collected at the gates, and, going up 
to a telyega shaded by a reed cover, entered into conversation | 
with a pale young officer, who was stretched out in it. Na- 
tasha advanced a few steps, and stood timidly, still holding 
her handkerchief, and listening to what the old “key- 
woman ”’ said. 
“Well, I suppose you haven’t any kith or kin in Moscow, 
have you?” asked Mavra Kuzminitchna. “ You would be so: 
much more comfortable in a room somewhere. — Here, for 
instance, in our house. The folks are going off.” 
“T don’t know as it would be permitted,” replied the officer, 
in-a feeble voice. “There’s our nachalnik yonder — you 
see?” and he indicated a stout major, who was walking back: 
along the street, past the line of telyegas. 
Natasha, with startled eyes, looked into the wounded offi- 
cer’s face, and immediately went to meet the portly major. 
“Can some of the wounded be taken into our house?” she 
demanded. 
The major, with a smile, raised his hand to his visor. 
“ Which would you like, mamzel?” he asked, squinting his 
eyes, and smiling. 





* Golubushka. 





WAR AND PEACE. 825 


' Natasha calmly repeated her question, and her face and her 
whole manner, although she still kept hold of the ends of her 
handkerchief, were so serious, that the major ceased to smile, 
and after first stopping to consider, as though he were asking 
himself how far this were admissible, at last gave her an 
affirmative answer. 

“Oh, yes, certainly they can,” said he. 

Natasha bowed slightly, and returned, with swift steps, to 
‘Mayra Kuzminitchna, who was still standing by the officer, 
and talking with him with compassionate sympathy. 

' “They can, he said they could,” whispered Natasha. 

The covered telyega in which the officer was lying was 
driven into the Rostofs’ yard, and a dozen telyegas, with their 
loads of wounded, by invitation of the inhabitants, were 
iaken in at different yards and driven up to the steps of the 
houses on the Povarskaya Street. 

Natasha was evidently pleased by having something to do 


with new people, remote from the ordinary conditions of life. © 


She and Mavra Kuzminitchna made as many more of the 
wounded come into the dvor as possible. 

“Still, we must ask your papdsha,” Mavra Kuzminitchna 
said. 

. “Not at all, not at all; what difference can it possibly 
‘make? Just for one night, we could sleep in the drawing- 
oom. We can let them have all our rooms.” 

. “What queer notions you do have, baruishnya! Even if 
we gave them the wing and the unfinished rooms, we should 
ave to ask permission!” 

- “Well, I will go and ask.” 

Natasha ran into the house, and on tiptoes passed through 
‘he half-open door of the divan-room, where there was a 
‘trong scent of vinegar and Hoffmann’s drops. 

“ Are you asleep, mamma ? ”’ 

“Oh! how can I sleep?” said the countess, waking from 
‘, doze into which she had dropped. 

_ “Mamma, darling,” * said Natasha, kneeling before her and 
‘eaning her cheek close to her mother’s, “I am sorry ; forgive 
ne for waking you up, I will never.do it any more. — Mavra 
Auzminitchna sent me,—some wounded men have been 
‘rought here, —some officers. Will you let them come 
.n? They don’t know where to take them; I know you 
will - them come,” said she hurriedly, not regaining her 
reath, 





* Golubchik. 


2 


a 










326 WAR AND PEACE. 


“What officers? Who has been brought here? I don’ 
understand at all!” said the countess. 

Natasha began to laugh; the countess responded with ; 
feeble smile. 

“T knew that you would let them come — well, then, I wil 
go and tell them,” and Natasha, kissing her mother, jumpec 
up, and hurried off. 

In the hall she met her father, who had come home wit} 
bad tidings. 

‘Here we are still!” cried the count, with involuntary 
vexation. ‘The club is already closed, and the police aré 
going.” 

‘Papa, it does not make any difference, does it? I have 
invited some wounded men to be brought in?” askec 
Natasha. 

“Why, of course not,” said the count distractedly. “ Bui 
that’s not the trouble. I beg of you to have done with tri 
fling, and to help get packed up, so we can go, go, go to 
morrow.” 

And the count proceeded to give the major-domo and al 
the servants the same order. 

Petya came back to dinner, and communicated his budget 
of news. 

He told how that day the people had got arms at thé 
Kreml, that though Rostopchin had declared he would give 
the alarm two days in advance, still there was no questior 
that he had ordered the whole populace to go out fully armec 
the next day to Tri Gorui, and that there was going to ba 
great battle there. 

The countess, with timid dismay, looked at her son’s bright. 
excited face while he was saying this. She knew that if. a 
said a word that might be interpreted as asking Petya not t¢ 
go to that battle — for she knew that his heart was full o! 
joy at the prospect of such a battle —then he would have 
something to say about men, about honor, about the father: 
land — something so absurd, so like a man, so contrary to al! 
reason — against which there was no reply to be made, and 
her hopes would be dashed —and therefore trusting so t¢ 
arrange it as to attain her end, and take Petya with her, as 
her defender and protector, she said nothing to him, but 
after dinner, called the count aside, and with tears besough 
him to start as soon as possible, that very night if it wer 
possible. With the feminine, artless cunning of love, she wh 
till then, had boasted of her absolute freedom from timidity, 








WAR AND PEACE. 827 


| 

[ 

‘eclared that she should die of See if she did not go that 
ery evening. 

There was no pretence about it: she was really afraid of 
everything. 

/ 


CHAPTER XIV. 


, MapAme Scuoss, who had been over to her daughter’s, still 
lore enhanced the countess’s fear by her account of what she 
ad seen in Miasnitskaya Street, at a spirit-store. As she 
vas returning along the street, her way home was blocked by 
throng of the drunken populace, who were surging around 
ae shop. 
} She took an izvoshchik and came home by a roundabout 

/gute, and the izvoshchik had told her that the crowd had been — 
taving in the casks in the spirit-store, and that they had been 

ermitted to do so. 
| After dinner all the household of the Rostofs, in a perfect 
ansport of zeal, set themselves to the task of packing up the 
‘ffects and preparing for the departure. The old count, sud- 
‘enly taking a hand in affairs, from. dinner-time forth ceased 
sot to trot back and forth between the dvor and the house, 
eoherently shouting to the hurrying servants, and urging 
‘hem to still greater haste. Petya remained in the dvor, 
lving orders there. Sonya knew not what to do under 
he count’s contradictory orders, and entirely lost her head. 
‘he men, shouting, scolding, and making a fearful racket, 
astened through the rooms and bustled about in the court- 
ard. 
» Natasha, with that zeal that was so characteristic of her, 
(addenly also put her hand to the,work. At first her inter- 
rence with the task of packing was resented. All that was 
wer expected of her was quips, and now they were in no 
100d for such things; but she was so earnest and eager in 
WPring their submission to her will, she was so grave, and 
ame so near weeping because they would not listen to her, 
‘hat at last she won the victory and their confidence. 

; Her first achievement, which cost her enormous efforts and 
ave her the power, was ‘the packing of the rugs. The count 
ad in his house some precious Godelins and Persian carpets. 
‘Vhen Natasha first put her hand to the work two great chests 
:tood open in the ballroom ; one was filled almost to the top with 
hina, the other with rugs. There was still a great quantity 
f china standing about on the tables, and they were bringing 












328 WAR AND PEACE. 







still more from the storerooms. It was necessary fo begi 
still a third fresh packing-case, and some of the men had bee 
sent after one. 

“Sonya, wait, we can get it all in as it is,” said Natasha. 

“Tmpossible, baruishnya! it has been tried already,” sai¢ 
the butler. 

“No, wait and see, please.” And Natasha began rapidly t¢ 
take out of the packing-case the plates and dishes that wer 
wrapped up in paper. 

“The platters must be put in there with the rugs,” sai 
she. 

“But there are rugs enough as it is for all three of the 
boxes !” exclaimed the butler. 

“Now wait, please.” And Natasha began swiftly and 
skilfully to unpack. “Those are not needed,” said she of 
some Kief-ware plates. “But those are to be put in with the 
rugs,” said she of some Dresden dishes. | 

“There, now, let it alone, Natasha; there, that’ll do, we’ll 
get it packed!” exclaimed Sonya reproachfully. 

“Ekh! baruishnya!” exclaimed the major-domo. But 
Natasha would not yield; she took out everything and pro- 
ceeded rapidly to pack them up again, deciding that there was 
no need at all of taking the cheap, ordinary carpets and the 
superfluous tableware. 

-When everything was taken out they began to pack up 
again. And in fact after everything of little value which it 
was not worth while to take with them had been removed, all 
that had any value could be jut into the two packing-cases. 
But it was found impossible to close the lid of the box that 
held the rugs. It could be done by taking out one or two 
things, but Natasha was bound to have her/own way. She 
arranged the things, and re-arranged them, pressed them down, 
and compelled the butler and Petya, whom she ealled in to 
help her pack, to sit on the cover, and she herself put forth 
all her strength with the energy of despair. 

“There, that’s enough, Natasha,” said Sonya; “I see you 
are right, only take out the top one.” 

“JT don’t wish to,” cried Natasha, with one hand pushing 
back her.dishevelled locks from her sweaty face and pressing 
down the rugs with the other. “Now press down, Petya, 
push! Vasilyitch, press down!” cried she. The rugs gave 
way and the cover was shut. 

Natasha, clapping her hands, actually squealed with delight, 
and the tears gushed from her eyes. But this lasted only a 


WAR AND PEACE. 829 
‘econd. She immediately applied herself to something else, 
.ad by this time they had begun to repose the most implicit 
onfidence in her; even the count was not indignant when he 
ras informed that Natalya Hyinitchna had countermanded 
ome order of his, and the household serfs came to her to ask: 

‘hould they cord up the loads or not, or wasn’t the team full 
mough ? Thanks. to Natasha’s clever management great 
/rogress was made in the work; articles of little account were 
aft out, and the most precious things were packed in the most 
ractical form possible. 

But in spite of the efforts of all the people the labor of 
acking was not completed that night, though they worked 
‘Ii late. The countess went to bed, ‘and the count, deferring 
ae start till morning, also retired. 

/ Sonya and Natasha, without disrobing, went to sleep in the 
‘ivan-room. 

That night another wounded man had been brought through 
jie Povarskaya, and Mavra Kuzminitchna, who happened to be 
sanding down by the gates, had him brought into the Rostof 
ouse. This wounded man, according to Mavra Kuzminitchna, 
‘as evidently a man of great distinction. He was carried in 
‘ealash entirely covered with the apron and with the hood 
‘¢down. On the box with the driver sat a very dignified old 
alet. The calash was followed by a team with the doctor and 
vo soldiers. 

- “Come into our house, come in. The folks are all going; 
ie whole house will be deserted,” said the old woman, address- 
ig the aged servant. 

“ Well,” said the valet, sighing, “ we did not know where to 
tke him. We have our own house in Moscow, but it’s far 
f and no one in it.” 

“We beg it as a favor; our folks have always a houseful, 
) please come,” said Mavra Kuzminitchna. . “ What! is he 
ary bad ?” she added. 

The valet spread open his hands. 

_“We did not know as we could get him here. I must ask 
‘te doctor.” And the valet sprang down from the box and 
ent to the other team. 

_“Very good,” said the doctor. 

' The valet returned to the calash, looked into it, shook his 
ad, bade the driver turn into the dvor, and he himself 
mained standing by Mavra Kuzminitchna. 

-“ Merciful Saviour!” * she exclaimed. 


# “ Gospodt Iisuse Khriste |’ (Lord Jesus Christ! ), 








330 WAR AND PEACE. 


Mayra Kuzminitchna invited them to carry the wounde 
man into the house. : 
“The folks won’t say anything,” she went on. But it wai 
necessary to avoid carrying him upstairs, and therefore thi 
wounded man was taken into the wing and placed in thi 
rooms formerly occupied by Madame Schoss. : 
The wounded officer was Prince Andrei Bolkonsky! : 


CHAPTER XV. 


THE last day of Moscow dawned. | 

It was bright, inspiriting autumn weather. It was a Sun 
day. Just as on ordinary Sundays, the bells on all thi 
churches rang for mass. It seemed as if even now no oni 
realized what was coming upon Moscow. 

Only two indications of the crisis were visible in society, ant 
showed the position in which Moscow was placed: the rabble 
that is to say. the poorer classes, and the price for commodi 
ties. The factory operatives, household serfs, and muzhikj 
in a portentous throng, wherein mixed and mingled cebi 
novniks, seminarists, noblemen, had early that morning gons 
out to Tri Gorul. Having reached there, they did not wait fu 
Rostopehin, but coming to the conclusion that Moscow was ti 
be abandoned, this mob scattered through Moscow, among thy 
spirit-stores, and traktirs or taverns. 

Prices that day also indicated the posture of affairs. Thi 
prices for weapons, for gold, for teams and horses, kept going 
higher and higher, while the prices for paper money and fo 
city luxuries kept depreciating, so that by the middle of thu 
day there were instances of costly wares like cloth being cat 
ried off by izvoshchiks for nothing, while as high as five hua 
dred rubles were paid for a muzhik’s horse ; but furniture 
mirrors, and bronzes went begging. 

In the dignified old house of the Rostofs’, the overturn 6 
the former “conditions of existence found very feeble expres 
sion. As far as the servants were concerned, it only hag 
pened that during the night three out of all the enormous ret 
nue ran away ; but nothing was stolen, and the prices of thing 
were well shown by the fact that the thirty teams brought fron 
the country represented an enormous fortune, which many mel 
coveted, and for which tremendous offers were made to | 
Rostots. 1 

Although great sums of money were offered for these teams 


| 


WAR AND PEACE. 831 


‘evertheless, during the evening of the twelfth and on the 
sorning of the thirteenth of September, there was a constant 
eam of denshchiks, and other servants, sent by wounded 
ificers, as well as the wounded men themselves who had been 
3xcommodated at the Rostofs’ and at neighboring houses, beg- 
ng the Rostofs’ servants to obtain for them these teams so 
iat they could escape from Moscow. 

The major-domo, to whom these men applied with such 
stitions, although he pitied the wounded, gave a decided re- 
isal, declaring that he should not dare to propose such a 
‘ung to the count. However hard it was to leave the 
sounded behind, it was self-evident that if one team were 
‘ven up, there would be no reason for refusing another, and 
tother, and finally all their teams and even their private 
jrriages. Thirty teams would not save all the wounded, and, 
the universal calamity, it was out of the question that each 
‘rson should not think of himself and his family first. Thus 
/€ major-domo thought in behalf of his barin. 

(On waking up on the morning of the thirteenth, Count Ilya 
adreyitch softly left his chamber, so as not to arouse the 
juntess, who had only fallen asleep toward morning, and in 
3 lilac-colored silk dressing-gown went down to the front 
2ps. 

‘The teams, ready loaded, stood in the yard. The travelling- 
triages were at the door. The major-domo was standing by 
© entrance, conversing with an elderly denshchik, and a pale 
ung officer with his arm in a sling. The major-domo, see- 
3 the count, made a stern and significant sign to the officer 
‘d the man, that they should go. 

“Well, is everything ready, Vasilyitch ? ” asked the count, 
bbing his bald spot, and looking good-naturedly at the 
icer and the denshchik, and nodding to them. The count 
18 fond.of new faces. 

“About ready to hitch up, your illustriousness.” 

(Well, that is excellent! But here, the countess will soon 
“awake, and then God speed us.* — Well, sir?” said he, 
‘ming to the officer. “You will make yourself at home in 
house, will you ?” 

‘The officer drew nearer. His pale face suddenly flushed a 
‘Iliant crimson. 

‘Count, do me the favor, —allow me — for God’s sake — 
‘Me creep into one of your wagons. I have no luggage 
ih me here—I would as soon go in the cart”— The 


* § Bogom. 





332 WAR AND PEACE. 


officer had not finished speaking, before the denshchik came 
up to the count, to prefer the same request in behalf of his 
gentleman. 

“ Oh, yes, yes, yes,” cried the count, hastily. “I am very, 
very glad. Vasilyitch, you make the arrangements; have one 
or two of the telyegas unloaded— say that one yonder — well 
—any one that seems most advisable” — said the count, 
couching his orders in vague phrases. . 

But at the same instant the eager expression of gratitude 
on the officer’s face confirmed him in his determination. The 
count glanced around: the courtyard, the gates, the windows 
of the wing, were all crowded with wounded men and their 
attendants. The eyes of all were riveted on the count, and 
they were coming toward the steps. . 

“ Please, your illustriousness, come into the picture-gallery ; 
what do you wish done in regard to the pictures ? ” asked the 
major-domo. a 

The count went with him into the house, at the same time 
repeating his injunctions not to refuse any of the wounded 
who begged to be taken. 

“There, now, something can be unloaded,” he added, in a 
low, mysterious voice, as though he feared some one would 
overhear him. 

At nine o’clock, the countess awoke, and Matriona Timov- 
yevna, her former lady’s maid, who now exercised in the 
countess’s behalf the duties of chief of police,* came to inform 
her old mistress that Maria Karlovla was greatly incensed, 
and that it was an impossibility for the young ladies’ summer 
dresses to be left behind! 

When the countess made inquiries why Madame Schoss was 
incensed, it appeared that her trunk had been taken from the 
cart, and that they were unloading all of the teams, that they 
were making ready to take on and carry away with them the 
wounded whom the count, in his simple-hearted kindness, had 
promised to rescue. 

The countess had her husband summoned. 

“What does this mean, my love? I hear they are unload- 
ing the things again.” 

“You see, ma chére,—I was going to tell you, ma chére 
grafinyushka —the officer came to me—and begged me to 
let them have a few of the teams for the wounded. Of course, 
this is all worth a good deal, but how could we leave them 
behind? Just think !— It’s a fact, they’re in our yard—we 


* Shef zhendarmof. 


’ 





WAR AND PEACE. SoD 


“invited them in. — You see, I think —we really ought, ma 


chere — so now, ma chére — let ’em go with us — what is the 
hurry, anyway ?” 

_ The count spoke timidly, as was always his custom when 
there was any money transaction on foot. The countess was 


accustomed to this tone, which always preceded any project 


that was going to eat up his children’s fortunes, as for 


instance the starting a picture gallery, new orangeries, the 


-arrangement of private theatrical performances, or music; 


-and she was accustomed, and had long considered it her duty, 


to oppose anything that was suggested in this tone of voice. 
She put on a set, tearful face, and said to her husband : — 
“Listen, count; you have brought things to such a pass 
that we aren’t worth anything, and now all our property — 
our children’s — all that’s left — you want to make way with. 
“Why, you yourself said that what was in the house was worth 
-a hundred thousand! I will not consent, my love, I will not 
consent! Do as you please! It’s for the government to look 
‘after the wounded. They know it. Look across the street 
‘there at the Lopukhins’; everything was carried off clean 
‘three days ago. That’s the way men do! ’We alone are 
‘idiots! If you don’t have any pity on me, at least remember 
your children!” 
The count made a gesture with his hands, and, saying 
nothing further, left the room. 
_ “Papa! what is the matter ?” asked Watasha, who had fol- 
lowed him to her mother’s room. 
“Nothing! none of your concern !” replied the count testily. 
“No, but I heard what you were saying,” said Natasha. 
“Why isn’t mamenka willing ? ” 
_ “ What business is it of yours ?” screamed the count. 
Natasha went to the window and pondered. “P4penka! 
Berg has come!” said she, looking out of the window. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


___ Bere, the count’s son-in-law, was now a colonel, wearing the 
Vladimir and the Anna around his neck, and occupied in the 
‘Same pleasant and sinecure post, as assistant to the chief of 
the staff of the assistant chief of staff of the first division of 
the second corps. 
On the thirteenth of September he drove in to Moscow from 
the army. ; 


/ 


884 WAR AND PEACE. 


There was nothing to call him to Moscow, but he had 
observed that all were asking leave of absence to go to Mos: 
cow, and seemed to have private business there. He consid- 
ered 1t essential for him also to go and inquire after his wife’s 
family and affairs. 

Berg drove up to his father-in-law’s house in his elegant 
little drozhsky drawn. by a pair of plump roans, exactly like 
those belonging to a certain prince. He gave a keen look at 
the teams drawn up in the yard; and as he came to the steps, 
he took out a clean handkerchief and tied a knot in it. 

Berg passed from the anteroom into the drawing-room with 
slow, dignified steps, and embraced the count, and kissed 
Natasha’s hand, and Sonya’s, and made haste to inquire after 
his mamasha’s health. | : . 

“Who thinks about health nowadays? ‘Tell us,” said the 
count, “tell us about the army. Will they retire or will there 
be another battle ? ” 

“The Everlasting God, papasha,” said Berg, “can alone decide 
the fate of the fatherland. The army is afire with the spirit 
of heroism, and even now the leaders, so to speak, are collected 
in council. What will be is not known. But I can tell you 
in general, papasha, the heroic spirit, the truly antique valor 
of the Russian troops, which they —I mean it” —he cor- 
rected himself —“ showed, or rather displayed, in that battle 
of the seventh instant, words are not sufficient to describe. — 
I tell you, papasha” —here he gave himself a slap on the 
chest, just as he had seen a general do in telling this story, 
though he was rather late in bringing it in effectively, because 
he should have given himself the slap on the chest at the 
words Lussian troops — “TI will tell you frankly that we — 
the nachalniks not only were not obliged to urge on the sol- 
diers or do anything of the sort, but, rather, we found it hard 
work to restrain their ardor —their, their — yes, their gallant 
and antique onslaughts,” said he eloquently. “General Bar- 
clay de Tolly exposed his life everywhere in front of the 
troops, I tell you! Our corps was posted on the slope of a 


hill. You can imagine !””— And here Berg related all that he 


remembered of the various reports that he had heard at that 
time. | 
Natasha did not take her eyes from him, which confused 


_ Berg, for she seemed to be searching his face for the answer, 


to some question. . 
“Such heroism as was displayed by the Russian troops in 


1 


i 


. . . . . . . . | 
general, it is impossible to imagine or to praise sufficiently,” | 


WAR AND PEACE. | 339 


said Berg, glancing at Natasha, and smiling in answer to her 
‘fixed look,.as though anxious to win her good graces. “ Rus- 
.sia is not in Moscow, she is in the hearts of her sons. Isn’t 
that so, papasha ? ” asked Berg. : 

At this moment the countess came out from the divan-room 
‘with a weary and dissatisfied face. Berg sprang up, kissed 
‘her hand, inquired after her health, and, expressing his 
‘sympathy by a shake of the head, remained standing by her 
side. 

_ “Yes, mamdsha, I will tell you frankly these are melan- 
choly, trying times for every Russian. But why be so dis- 
turbed? There is still time for you to get away safely ” — 

_ “J don’t understand what the servants are up to,” said the 
‘countess, addressing her husband. “TI have just been told that 
not a thing is ready yet. You see how necessary it is for 
some one to take full charge. Now here we really miss 
Mitenka. There will never be any end to it!” 

The count was about to make some reply, but evidently 
restrained himself. He got up from his chair and went to the 
door. 
| Berg just then took out his handkerchief as though to blow 
‘his nose, and, catching sight of the knot that he had tied, grew 
thoughtful and shook his head in a melancholy and significant 
manner. 

“T have a great favor to ask of you, papasha,” said he. 

“Hm ?” returned the count, stopping short. 

“T was just passing Yusupof’s,” said Berg with a laugh. 
“The overseer, who is an acquaintance of mine, came running 
out, and urged me to buy something. I went in just out of 
¢uriosity, and there I found a pretty little chiffonier* and 
toilet. You know how Vierushka has always wanted one, and 
show we have actually quarrelled over it.” — Berg involuntarily 
took a tone of self-congratulation over his comfortable little 
establishment, as he began to speak about the chiffonier and 
the toilet. — “And it is such a beauty! It is full of drawers, 
and has an English secret panel, don’t you know! And Vie- 
rotchka had wanted one so long! And so I wanted to sur- 
prise her. I saw you had so many of these muzhiks in the 
yard. Let me have one, please. I will pay him handsomely 
aa ?? — 

' A frown passed over the count’s face, and he began to 
slear his throat.— “Ask the countess; I am not giving the 

directions,” | 

* Shifonyérotchka, 

| 


336 WAR AND PEACE. 






“Tf it is inconvenient, no. matter about it,” said Berg. — 
“Only I wanted it very much for Vierushka’s sake.” 

“Akh! go to the devil—all of you, to the devil, to the 
devil, and to the devil!” cried the old count. —“ My head is 
ina whirl!” And he flew out of the room. 

The countess burst into tears. 

“Yes, indeed, mamenka, it is a very trying time!” said 
Berg. 

Natasha followed her father out of the room, and at first 
started to go to him; but then, seeming to collect her 
thoughts, she hastened downstairs. 

Petya was standing on the steps, busy providing with arms 
the men who were to escort the family from Moscow. In the 
dvor the teams still stood corded up. Two of them had been 
unloaded, and in one the young officer had already taken his 
place, assisted by his denshehik. 

“Do you know what the trouble was?” asked Petya of 
Natasha. Natasha understood that Petya referred to the 
dispute between their father and mother. She made no 
reply. 

“Because papenka wanted to give up all the teams to 
the wounded!” said Petya. “Vasilyitch told me. In my 
opinion ” — 

“In my opinion,’ suddenly interrupted Natasha, almost 
screaming, and turning her wrathful face full upon Petya— 
“in my opinion, this is so mean, so shameful, so—so—I. 
can’t express it! Are we miserable Germans ? ” 

Her throat swelled with convulsive sobs, and, fearing lest 
she should break down and waste the ammunition of her 
wrath, she turned on her heel and flew impetuously upstairs. 

Berg was sitting down near the countess, and trying, like a 
dutiful son, to console her. The count, with his pipe in his 
hand, was striding up and down, when Natasha, her face dis- 
torted with indignation, dashed into the room, and huiried. to 
her mother with rapid steps. 

“This is shameful! This is abominable!” she cried. “It 
cannot be that you have given such an order.” 

Berg and the countess looked at her in fear and bewilder- 
ment. ‘The count paused by the window, and listened. : 

“Mamenka, it must not be! see what they are doing in the 
yard!” she cried. “They are to be left!” | 

“What is the matter? Who are to be left? What do you 
want ?” | 

“The wounded men, that’s who! It must not be, mémenka! 


| 
| 
| 
! 





WAR AND PEACE. BOL 


This is not like you at all! No, mdmenka, dearest little 
‘dove!* Mamenka! what do we want of all those things that 
we were going to take away ? only look out into the yard! — 
. Mamenka !— This must not, cannot be.” 
The count still stood by the window without turning his 

face away, as he listened to Natasha’s words. 

Suddenly he blew his nose, and leaned over toward the 
, window. 
» The countess gazed at her daughter, saw her face tinged 
with shanie for her mother’s sake, saw her agitation, under- 
stood now why it was her husband would not look at her, and 
then glanced around her with a troubled face. 


suddenly. 

“Mamenka, dear little dove, forgive me !.” 
| But the countess pushed her daughter away, and went over 
to the count. 

“ Mon cher, you give what orders are necessary. You see, I 
know nothing about this at all!” said she, guiltily dropping 
her eyes. 

“The.eggs —the eggs are teaching the old hen,” exclaimed 
the count through his happy tears, and he embraced his wife, 
‘who was glad to hide her face crimson with shame against his 
heart. 
| “Papenka, mémenka! Shall I give the orders? May 1?” 
said Natasha. “ We will still take all that we really need,” 


» “Akh! you may do as you please. Am I interfering with 
jany one?” she exclaimed, not willing even yet to give in 
| 





said Natasha. 

The count nodded assent, and Natasha, with the same swift 
steps with which she would run when she used to play gor- 
yelki or tag, flew across the room into the anteroom, and 
lownstairs into the courtyard. 

_ The men gathered around Natasha, and they would not put 
jay faith in the strange command which she gave them, until 
ihe old count himself came down, and, in the name of his wife, 
»rdered them to give up all the wagons to the wounded, and 
i0 carry the boxes and trunks back to the storerooms. 

) After they had comprehended the meaning of the order, 
he men with joyful eagerness, addressed themselves to the 
lew task. This did not any longer seem strange to the me. 
uals, but, on the contrary, it seemed to them that it could not 
e ordered otherwise; just the same as, a quarter of an hour 
efore, it did not seem strange to any one that the wounded 


* Golibushka. 











VOL. 8. nog! ae. 


338 WAR AND PEACE. © 


men were to be left and the things carried away, but seemed 
to them that it could not be ordered otherwise. All the house- 
hold, as though grieved because they had not got at this work 
more expeditiously, took hold of it with a will, and made 
place for the wounded. The wounded men dragged them- 
selves down from their rooms, and their pale faces lighted up 
with joy as they gathered around the teams. 

The rumor spread to the adjoining houses that the teams 
were going to start from the Rostofs’, and still more of the 
wounded came crowding, into the Rostofs’ yard from the other 
houses. 

Many of the wounded begged them not to remove all the 
things, but simply to let them sit on top. But the work of 
unloading having once begun, it could not stop. It was a mat- 
ter of indifference whether all the things were left or only 
half of them. The-courtyard was littered up with the unladen 
chests and boxes full of china, bronzes, paintings, mirrors, 
which had been so carefully packed up the night before, and 
still the work went on of taking off this thing and that, and 
giving up one team after another. 

“We can take four more,” said the overseer. “Here, I 
will give up my team! but then, what should I do with 
them ?” 

“Well, give them the one that has my trunks,” said the 
countess; “ Dunyasha can sit with me in the carriage.” 

So they gave up also the wardrobe wagon,* and let the 
wounded from two neighboring houses have the use of it. Al 
the household and the servants were full of happy excite- 
ment. Natasha had .risen to a state of enthusiastically 
happy emotion such as she had not experienced for a long 
time. 

“How shall we tie this on?” asked some of the men, who 
were trying to fasten a chest on the narrow foot-board of one 
of the carriages. ‘We ought to give up a whole team to it!” 

“What does it contain?” asked Natasha. 

* ©The count’s books.” 

“ Leave it, Vasilyitch will take care of it. We don’t need 
them.” 

The britchka was full; there was some question where 
Piotr [lyitch was to go. 

“ He can sit on the coachman’s box. Get up there on the 
box!” cried Natasha. 

Sonya was also indefatigably at work; but the object of her 


* Garderobnaya povozka. 


-WAR AND PEACE. 339 


‘labors was diametrically opposed to the object of Natasha’s. 
‘She was looking out for the things which had to be left 
behind, labelling them by the countess’s desire, and doing her 
best to have as much taken as could be. 


CHAPTER XVIL. 

By two o’clock, the four equipages of the Rostofs, loaded 
and packed, stood at the door. ‘The teams with the wounded, 
‘one after the other, filed out of the gate. The calash in which 
‘Prince Andrei was carried passed in front of the entrance, 
and attracted the attention of Sonya, who was engaged with 
the maid in trying to arrange a comfortable seat for the.coun- 
'tess in her huge, lofty coach, that stood at the door. 
_ * Whose calash is that?” asked BONY a putting her head 
out of the carriage window. 
| “Why, don’t you know, baruishnya ‘ 2” rephed the maid. 
“Tt’s the wounded prince ; he spent the night at our house, 
and is also going with us.” 
i “But who is he? What is his name ? ” 
| “Tt’s our former lover! Prince Bolkonsky!” replhed the 
lady’s maid, with a sigh. “They say he’s going to die.” 

Sonya sprang out of the carriage and hastened to the coun- 
tess. The countess, already dressed for the journey, in 
shawl and hat, was weariedly walking up and down through 
the drawing-room, waiting for the household to assemble so as 
to sit down, with closed doors, and have prayers read before 
Setting forth on the journey. Natasha was not in the room. 

“Maman!” exclaimed Sonya, “Prince Andrei is here! 
wounded and dying. He is going with us!” 
, The countess opened her eyes wide with terror, and, seizing 
Sonya’s arm, looked around. 

“ Natasha!” she exclaimed. 

Both for Sonya and for the countess this news had at the 
first moment only one significance. They knew their Natasha, 
and the horror at the thought how this news would affect her 
crowded out all sympathy for the man whom they both loved. 
, “Natasha does not know it yet; but he is going in our 
party,” said Sonya. 
, “Did you say he was dying?” 

Sonya bent her head. 

The countess threw her arms around Sonya and burst into 
tears. 


7 


349 WAR AND PEACE. : 


“The ways of the Lord are past finding out!” she said ta 
herself, with the consciousness that in everything that was 
then taking place an All-powerful Hand was in control of 
what had been concealed from the eyes of men. 

“Well, mamma, all is ready.— What is the matter with 
you?” asked Natasha, suddenly coming into the room with 
flushed and eager face. 

“ Nothing,” said the countess. “If we are ready, then let 
us be off.” 

And the countess bent over to her reticule, in order to hide 
her disturbed face. Sonya hugged Natasha and kissed her. 

“What is the matter? What has happened ?” 

“ Nothing — noth” — 

“Something wrong, and about me? What is it?” asked 
the sensitive Natasha. 

Sonya sighed, and made no reply. 

The count, Petya, Madame Schoss, Mavra Kuzminitchna, and 
Vasilyitch, came into the room, and, shutting the door, all sat 
down, and remained for some seconds in silence} not exchan- 
ging glances. 

The count was the first to rise, and, drawing a loud sigh, 
he began to cross himself toward the holy pictures. All did 
hkewise. Then the count began to embrace Mavra Kuzmi- 
nitchna and Vasilyitch, who were to be left in Moscow, and 
while they fondled his hand and kissed him on the shoulder, 
he lightly patted them on the back, muttering some vague, af- 
fectionately consoling phrases. 

The countess went to the oratory, and Sonya found her 
there on her knees in front of the “images,” which were left 
here and there on the wall. The most precious images, as 
family heirlooms, had been taken down and carried off. 

On the stairs and in the yard, the men who were to accom- 
pany the teams, furnished with daggers and sabres, delivered 
out to them by Petya, and with their trousers tucked into 
their boots, and their coats tightly girt around them with gir- 
dles and belts, were exchanging farewells with those who were 
to stay behind. 

As always happens at starting:on a journey, many things 
were forgotten or not properly packed ; and the two haiduks 
had been long standing on either side of the open door, by the 
carriage steps, ready to help the countess in, while the maids 
were bustling about with cushions and parcels to stow awe | 
in the coaches and the calash and the britchka. 

“They are forever and forever forgetting something !”” ex: 


) 


WAR AND PEACE. 341 


| glaimed the countess. “Now see here. You know I can’t sit 
(that way.” And Dunyasha, setting her teeth together, and 
|}making no reply, though an expression of indignation con- 
tracted her face, flew into the carriage to re-arrange the cush- 
; 1ons. 

i» “Akh! what aset of people!” exclaimed the count, shak- 

ing his head. 

j) The old eoachman, Yefim, with whom alone the countess 
'would consent to travel, sitting high on his box, did not even 
: deign to glance around at what was going on behind him. He 
‘knew, by thirty years’ experience, that it would be still some 
time before they said to him their “ S Boyom—Let us be off” 
'—and that, even after the order to start was given, he would 
_ still be stopped two or three times, while they sent back for 
{things forgotten; and that even then he would be stopped 
-again, and the countess herself would thrust her head out of 
\ the window, and ask him in the name of Christ the Lord — 
| Khristom Bogom —to drive more cautiously down the slopes. 
| He knew this, and therefore, with even greater patience than 
his horses, — especially more than the off chestnut, Sokol,* 
| which stood pawing with his hoofs, and champing his bit, — 
| he waited for what should be. 

At last all were in their places; the steps were done up, 
the door shut with a bang, a forgotten box sent for, the coun- 
‘tess put her head out and made the stereotyped remark. 
'Then Yefim deliberately removed his hat from his head, and 

proceeded to cross himself. The postilion and all the people 
‘did the same. “S Bogom—God with us,” cried Yetim, as 
‘he put on his cap. “Off we go!” 
The postilion cracked his whip. The near pole-horse 
strained on the collar, the lofty springs creaked, and the great 
;coach swayed. As it started, the footman leaped upon the 
‘box. The carriage went jolting along as it rumbled out from 
‘the dvor upon the uneven pavement; the other vehicles also 
‘followed jolting along, and the procession turned up the 
‘street. ° All in the carriages, the calash, and the britchka 
crossed themselves as they passed the church opposite. The 
)servants remaining in Moscow followed on both sides of the 
street, escorting them. 
» Natasha had rarely known such a feeling of keen delight as 
/she experienced now, sitting in the coach, next the countess, 
}and gazing out at the walls of abandoned, excited Moscow 
slowly moving past. She from time to time put her head 


g * Hawk. 
‘ 





342 WAR AND PEACE. 


out of the window and gazed forward and back at the long 
string of wagons containing the wounded accompanying them, 
Almost at the very front of the line she could see Prince 
Andrei’s covered calash. She did not know who was in it, 
and yet every time when she surveyed their train her eyes 
turned instinctively to this calash. She knew that it was at. 
the front. 

A number of carriage-trains like the Rostofs’ had turned 
out into Kudrina Street, from Nikitskaya, from Priesen, from | 
Podnovinsky, and when they reached the Sadovaya there 
were already a double row of vehicles and trains moving 
along. 

As they passed the Sukharef tower, Natasha, glancing with 
curiosity at the throng of people coming and going, suddenly 
uttered an exclamation expressive of delight and amazement. 

“Ye saints! * Mamma! Sonya! look, there he is1” 

“Who? who?” 

“Look! for pity’s sake,t Bezukhoi!” exclaimed Natasha, 
putting her head out of the carriage window, and staring at a 
tall, stout man in a coachman’s kaftan — evidently a gentle- 
man in disguise, to judge by his gait and carriage — who was 
walking along with a sallow, beardless little old man in a 
frieze cloak under the arch of the Sukharef tower. 

“Indeed,f it’s Bezukhoi, in the kaftan, walking with a little 
old man! Indeed it is!” exclaimed Natasha. “Look! look!” 

“Why, no! It can’t be. How can you say such absurd 
things!” 

“Mamma!” cried Natasha, “I'll wager my head that itis he. 
I assure you it is. Stop! stop!” she cried to the coachman. 
But the coachman could not stop, because a whole file of 
wagons and ,vehicles came in from Meshchanskaya Street, and 
shouted to the Rostofs to drive on and not delay the others. 

But, although he was now at a much greater distance from 
them all, the Rostofs now recognized Pierre, or the man in 
the coachman’s kaftan that looked like Pierre, pacing along 
the street with dejected head and solemn face, side by side 
with the little beardless man who had the appearance of a 
footman. This little old man remarked the tace thrust forth 
from the carriage-window, and trying to attract their atten: 
tion, and he respectfully nudged Pierre’s elbow, and said 
something to him, pointing to the carriage. - 

It was some time before Pierre realized what he said, he 
seemed to be so deeply sunken in thought. At last, when his 

* Batiushki. t Yéi Bogu. 


WAR AND PEACE. 348 


‘attention was roused, he looked in the indicated direction, 
‘and, recognizing Natasha, gave himself up for a second to the 
frst impression and ran nimbly over to the carriage. 

But, after taking a dozen steps, some thought, apparently, 
Hiruck him, and he paused. 

') Natasha put her head out of the window and beamed with 
mischievous affectionateness. 

'. “Piotr Kiriluitch, come here! You see, we recognized you. 
‘This is marvellous!” she cried, giving him her hand. “ What 

does this mean? Why are you so?” 

Pierre took the proffered hand, and, as he walked along, — 
for the carriage was still moving, — he awkwardly kissed it. 

“What is the matter with you, count?” asked the coun- 
tess, In a voice expressing amazement and sympathy. 

_ “JT—]—Why ?—don’t ask me,” said Pierre, and he 

glanced at Natasha, whose eyes, beaming with delight, — he 
‘felt them even though he did not look into them, — over- 
‘whelmed him with their charm. 

“What are you going to do? stay Hani | in Moscow ?” 

Pierre made no reply. 
| “In Moscow ?” he repeated, questioningly. “Yes, in Mos- 
‘cow. Good-by.” 

“ Akh! I wish I were a man, I would certainly stay behind 
with you. Akh! how nice that would be!” exclaimed Na- 
tasha. “Mamma, if you will let me, I will stay.” Pierre gave 
Natasha an absent look, and was about to say something, but 
the countess interrupted him. 

“We heard you were in the battle.” 

“Yes, I was,” replied Pierre. “To-morrow, there is to be 
another battle’ —he began to say, but Natasha interrupted 
him. 

“What is the matter with you, count? You aren’t like 

ourself”? — 

“ Akh! don’t, don’t ask me, don’t ask me, I myself don’t 
‘know. To-morrow, — but no! Good-by, good-by,” he went 
on. “Terrible times!” and, moving away from the carriage, 
he passed along on the sidewalk. 

Natasha for a long while still kept her head out of the 
window, beaming upon him with an affectionate and some: 
‘what mischievous smile of joy. 


344 WAR AND PEACE. 


CHAPTER XVIII. Pe 

PIERRE, during the two days since his disappearance from 
home, had. been living in the deserted rooms of the late Baz 
deyef. 7 

This was how it happened. | 

On waking up the morning after his return to Moscow and 
his interview with Count Rostopchin, it was a long time before 
Pierre could realize where he was and what was required of 
him. When he was informed that among those who were 
waiting to see him in his reception-room there was the 
Frenchman who had brought him the letter from the Coun- 
tess Elena Vasilyevna, there suddenly came over him that 
feeling of embarrassment and hopelessness to which he was 
peculiarly prone. 

It all at once came over him that everything was now at an 
end, that ruin and destruction were at hand, that there was no 
distinction between right and wrong, that there was no future, 
and that there was no escape from all this coil of troubles. 
With an unnatural smile on his lips, and muttering unintelli- 
gible words, he first sat down a while on his sofa, then he got. 
up, went to the door and looked through the crack into the 
reception-room, then, making a fierce gesture, he tiptoed back 
and took up a book. ‘The major-domo came for the second 
time to tell Pierre that the Frenchman who had brought the 
letter from the countess was very anxious to see him “if only 
for a little minute, and that a messenger had come from I. A. 
Bazdeyef’s widow to ask him to come for the books, since Mrs. 
Bazdeyeva had herself gone to the country. 

“Oh, yes, immediately — wait—or no, no, —go and say 
that I will come immediately,” said Pierre to the major-domo. 

But, as soon as the major-domo had gone, Pierre took his 
hat, which lay on the table, and left his cabinet by the rear 
door. ‘There was no one in the corridor. Pierre passed along 
the whole length of the corridor to the stairs, and, scowling 
and clasping his head in both hands, he went down to the first 
landing. The Swiss was standing at the front door. From 
the landing which Pierre had reached, another flight of stairs 
led to the rear entrance. Pierre went down this and came 
out into the yard. No one had seen him. But on the street, 
as soon as he left the gates, the coachmen waiting with their 
equipages, and the dvornik, or yardtender, saw the count, and 


WAR AND PEACE. 345 


took off their hats to him. Conscious of their glances fastened 

upon him, Pierre acted like an ostrich which hides its head in ° 
the sand so as not to be seen; he dropped his head, and, 
hastening his steps, ran out into the street. 

' Of all the business which faced Pierre that morning, the 

business of assorting Iosiph Alekseyevitch’s books and papers 
seemed to him most needful. 
_ He took the first izvoshchik that happened to come along, 
and ordered him to drive to the Patriarch’s Pools,* where the 
widow Bazdeyeva lived. As he kept glancing about on all the 
earavans of people, making haste to escape from Moscow, and 
balanced his obese frame so as not to be tipped out of the ram- 
shackly old drozhsky, Pierre experienced the same sort of 
eckless enjoyment felt by a truant boy. He entered into 
sonversation with the driver. 

__ The izvoshchik informed him that arms had been that day 
distributed to the populace in the Kreml, and that on the 
morrow they were all going out to the Tri Gorui barrier, and 
chat a great battle would take place there. 

_ On reaching the Patriarch’s Pools, Pierre had to make some 
\ittle search for Bazdeyef’s house, as he had not been there 
for some time. He approached the wicket door. Gerasim, 
she same sallow, beardless little old man whom Pierre had 
seen five years before at Torzhok, with LIosiph Alekseyevitch, 
vame out at his knock. 

“At home ?” asked Pierre. 

“Owing to present circumstances, Sofya Danilovyna and her 
thildren went yesterday to their Torzhok country seat, your 
llustriousness.” 

“ Nevertheless I will come in; I must assort the books,” 
said Pierre. | 

“To, I beg of you; the brother of the late lamented — 
ihe kingdom of heaven be his!— Makar Alekseyevitch — is 
‘eft here, as you will deign to know — he is very feeble,” said 
‘he old servitor. 

_ Makar Alekseyevitch was, as Pierre well knew, Iosiph Alek- 
ieyevitch’s half-witted brother, who was addicted to drink. 
“Yes, yes, 1 know. Come on, come,” said Pierre, and he 
mtered the house. 

A tall, bald, red-nosed old man, in a dressing-gown, and with 
yaloches on his bare feet, was standing in the reception-room. 
‘Nhen he saw Pierre, he testily muttered something, and 
huffled off into the corridor. 


| * Patriarshiye Prudui. 


, 


346 WAR AND PEACE. — 


“He once had great intellect, but now, as you will deign to 
observe, he has weakened,” said Gerasim. “ Would you like 
to go into the hbrary ? ” ; 

Pierre nodded assent. | 

“The library remains just as it had been left, with seals on 
everything. Sofya Danilovna gave orders that if you sent 
any one they were to have the books.” 

Pierre went into the same gloomy cabinet into which, during 
the Benefactor’s life, he had gone with such trepidation. It 
was now dusty, and had not been touched since Iosiph Alek- 
seyevitch’s death: it was gloomier than ever. | 

Gerasim opened one of the shutters, and left the room on 
his tiptoes. Pierre crossed the floor, went to one of the book- 
cases in which MSS. were kept, and took out one of the most 
important of the documents of the order at that time. These 
were some of the original acts of the Scotch branch, with ob- 
servations and explanations in the Hand of the Benefactor. 

He took a seat at the dust-encumbered writing-table, and 
spread the manuscripts in front of him, opened them, then 
shut them, folded them up, and, finally, pushing them away, 
rested his head on his hands and fell into deep thought. : 

Several times Gerasim cautiously came and looked into the) 
library, and found Pierre still in the same attitude. Thus 
passed more than two hours. Gerasim permitted himself to: 
make a little stir at the door so as to attract his attention;) 
Pierre heard him not. 

“Do you wish me to send away the driver?” : 

«Akh! yes,” said Pierre, starting from his reverie and, 
hastily jumping to his feet.— “Listen,” he added, taking 
Gerasim by his coat-button, and looking down upon the little. 
old man with glittering, humid eyes, full of enthusiasm — 
“ Listen, do you know that to-morrow there is to be a battle ?”. 

“They say so,” replied Gerasim. : 

“T beg of you not to tell any one who Tam. And do what 
I tell you ” — | | 

“J will obey,” replied Gerasim. “Do you wish something 
to. eati?.7’ : 

“No, but I want something else. I want a peasant’s dress. 
and a pistol,” said Pierre, unexpectedly reddening.” | 

“T will obey,” said Gerasim, after thinking a moment. i 

All the rest of this day Pierre spent alone in the Benefac- 
tor’s library, restlessly pacing from one corner of the room t0. 
the other, as Gerasim could hear, and sometimes talking to him- 
self, and he spent the night in a bed made ready for him there. 


a 2 


WAR AND PEACE, 347 
; 

’ Gerasim, with the equanimity of a servant who has seen 
‘many strange things in his day, accepted Pierre’s residence 
without amazement, and seemed well satisfied to have some 
one to wait upon: That same evening, without even asking 
‘himself what was the reason therefor, he procured for Pierre a 
‘Kaftan and hat, and promised on the following day to get the 
pistol that he wished. 

(| Makar Alekseyevitch, twice that afternoon, shuffling along 
‘pn his galoches, came to his door and halted, looking inquisi- 
‘avely at Pierre. But as soon as Pierre turned round to him 
ae wrapped his dressing-gown around him with a look of in- 
jured annoyance, and hastily made off. 

_ It was while Pierre, dressed in his coachman’s kaftan, pro- 
jured and refitted for him by Gerasim, and accompanied b 
‘he old man, was on his way to get the pistol at the Sukharef 
‘ower, that he fell in with the Rostofs. 


i 


4 
if 
\ 


CHAPTER XIX. 


| On the night of September 13, Kutuzof’s order for the 
‘Xussian troops to retire through Moscow to the Riazan high- 
vay was promulgated. 

_The vanguard moved in the night. The troops marching at 
aught took their time and proceeded slowly and in good order; 
ut at daybreak the troops that reached the Dorogomilovsky 
sridge saw in front of them, on the other side, endless masses 
f troops, packed together, hurrying across the bridge and 
‘oiling along the street and avenues, blocking them up, while 
thers were pressing on them from the rear. 

- And an unreasonable haste and panic took possession of the 
‘oops. The whole mass struggled forward to the bridge, and 
sross the river by the bridge, by the fords, and by boats. 
)utuzof gave orders to be driven round by back streets to the 
ther side of Moscow. 

. By ten o’clock on the morning of the fourteenth, only some 
[the troops of the rearguard were left, with ample room in 
‘ie Dorogomilovsky suburb. The bulk of the army was by 
tat time fairly on the other side of Moscow and beyond 
‘Oscow. 

At this same time —ten o’clock on the morning of Septem- 
’r 14— Napoleon stood, surrounded by his troops, on the 
‘oklonnaya Hill, and gazed at the landscape opened out before 
“m. 


ae WAR AND PEACE. 


From the seventh until the fourteenth of September — from 
the battle of Borodino until the entry of the enemy into Mos- 
cow —every day of that anxious, of that fateful week was dis- 
tinguished by unusual autumn weather, which always fills peo- 
ple with surprise, when the sun, though moving low, burns more 
fiercely than in the spring, when every object stands out in 
the thin, clear atmosphere dazzling the eye, when the lungs 
expand and are refreshed by taking in the fragrant autumn 
air, and when, during the mild dark nights, golden stars slip 
from the skies —a constant source of terror and delight. 

On September 14, at ten o’clock in the morning, the weather 
was still the same. The brilliancy of the morning was en- 
chanting. Moscow, from the Poklonnaya Hill, was spread 
out spaciously with its river, its gardens and churches, and, as 
it seemed, still alive with its own life, with its cupolas palpi- 
tating like stars in the rays of the sun. 

At the sight of this strange city, with the fantastic forms 
of its unusual architecture, Napoleon experienced that some- 
what envious and uneasy curiosity which men are wont to ex 
perience at the sight of unusual forms of a foreign life, which 
they have never known. Apparently, this city was alive with 
all the energy of its special life. By those vague signs 
whereby even at a distance one can infallibly distinguish a 
live body from a, corpse, Napoleon, from the top of the Po- 
klonnaya Hill, could feel the palpitation of life in the city, and 
felt, as it were, the breathing of that mighty and beautiful 
body. 

Every Russian, looking at Moscow, feels that she is his’ 
mother: every foreigner, looking upon her, even though he 
cannot appreciate this feeling for the motherhood of the city, 
must feel the feminine character of this city, and Napoleon 
felt it. 

“Cette ville asiatique aux innombrables églises, Moscow la 
Sainte. La voila done enfin, cette fameuse ville! Il étatt 
temps. — There she is at last. It was time!” said Napoleon, 
and, dismounting, he commanded to have spread before him 
the plan of that Holy Moscow, with its innumerable churches, 
—and he had his interpreter, Lelorme d’Ideville, summoned. 

“ Une ville occupée par Vennemi ressemble a une fille quia 
perdu son honneur,” he said to himself, repeating the remark 
that he had made to Tutchkof at Smolensk. And it was asa 
‘deflowered virgin ” that he looked upon this Oriental beauty, 
never seen before by him, now lying prone at his feet. 
Strange it was to himself that at last his long desire, which 


fk 
} WAR AND PEACE. 349 







,nad seemed impossible, was to be gratified. In the clear 


“morning light, he contemplated now the city and then the 
olan, and studied the characteristics of this city, and the cer- 
sainty that he should possess it excited him and filled him 
with awe. 
_ “Could it have been otherwise ?” he asked himself. “Here 
,she is —this capital at my feet, awaiting her fate. Where 
“10W is Alexander, and what thinks he now ? Strange, beauti- 
ul, magnificent city! And how strange and splendid this 
‘moment !” 

| And then thinking of his warriors, he said to himself, “In 
\what a light I must appear to them! This is the reward for 
il these men of little faith,” he mused, as he gazed about him 
jn those who were near him, and at the troops coming up the 
ull and falling into line. 

' “One word from me, one movement of my hand, and de- 
\troyed is the ancient capital of the tsars. Mais ma clémence 
st toujours prompte a descendre sur les vaincus. I must be 
Magnanimous and truly great. — But, no, it can’t be true that 
F am at Moscow ”—this idea suddenly occurred to him. — 
/‘Yet there she lies, at my feet, her golden cupolas and crosses 
\sleaming and palpitating in the rays of the sun. But I will 
how mercy to her! On yon ancient memorials of barbarism 
nd despotism I will inscribe the mighty words of justice 
(‘nd mercy — This will be the most cruel thing of all to 
Alexander ; I know him.” (Jt seemed to Napoleon that the 
wincipal significance of what had taken place lay in the set- 
lement of his personal dispute with Alexander.) “From the 
jeights of the Kreml—yes, that Kreml yonder —yes, I will 
rant him the laws of justice, I will show him the meaning of 
Tue civilization. I will compel the generations of boyars to 
/emember with affection the name of their conqueror. I will 
ell the deputations that I have had, and still have, no desire 
yor war, that I waged war only on the false policy of their 
,ourt, that I love and reverence Alexander, and that I will 
rant conditions of peace in Moscow, worthy of myself and 
ay peoples. I have no desire to take advantage of the for- 
unes of war to humiliate an esteemed monarch.’ ‘Boyars,’ 
will say to them, ‘I have no wish for war; my desire is for 
he peace and prosperity of my subjects.’ However, I know 
‘hat their presence will inspire me, and I will speak to them 
Ss I always speak: clearly, triumphantly, and majestically. 
a it be true that I am at Moscow? Yes, lo! there 
be is. 

























25() WAR AND PEACE. 


“ Qwon mamene les boyards — Have the boyars brought to 
me,” he said, addressing his suite. 

A general with a brilliant staff instantly galloped off after 
the boyars. ! 

Two hours passed. Napoleon ate his breakfast, and then 
took up his position on the same spot on the Poklonnaya Hill; 
and waited for the deputation. His speech with the boyars 
was already clearly outlined in his fancy. This discourse 
should be full of dignity, and of that grandeur which Napoleon 
understood so well. 

Napoleon himself was fascinated by this tone of magnanim- 
ity which he fully intended to use toward Moscow. In his 
fancy, he named a day for a reception in the palace of the 
tsars — at which all the Russian grandees would minglé with 
the grandees of the French emperor. He mentally named a 
governor, such a one as would be able to influence the popu- 
lation in his favar. As he happened to know that Moscow 
had many religious establishments, he decided, as he thought 
it over, that all these institutions should experience his 
bounty. He thought that just as in Africa he was bound to 
put on a burnus and attend a mosque, so here*in Moscow he 
must be generous after the manner of the tsars. And, in 
order completely to win the hearts of the Russians, he, like 
every Frenchman, unable to conceive any sentiment without 
some reference to ma chére, ma tendre, ma pauvre mére, he 
decided that on all these establishments he should order to 
be inscribed in great letters: HTABLISSEMENT DEDIF 
A MA CHERE MERE: “no, simply, MAISON DE MA 
MERE,” he decided in his own mind. “But am I really at 
Moscow ? Yes, there she is before me; but why is it that 
the deputation of the citizens is so long in appearing ?” he 
wondered. | 

Meantime, in the rear ranks of the emperor’s suite, a whis- 
pered and excited consultation was taking place among his 
generals and marshals. Those who had been sent to drum up 
a deputation returned with the tidings that the city was 
deserted, that all had departed or were departing from Mos- 
cow. The faces of the generals grew pale and anxious. They 
were not frightened because Moscow was abandoned by its 
inhabitants, — serin1s as that event might well appear to 
them, — but they were afraid of the responsibility of explain 
ing the fact to the emperor: how, how could it be done with: 
out exposing his majesty to that terrible position which the 
French call ridicule, to explain to him that he had vainly 


WAR AND PEACE. 351 


waited for the boyars all this time, that there was a throng of 
drunken men in the city, and that was all! 
_ Some declared that it was necessary, in the circumstances, 
to get up a deputation of some sort or other; others com- 
bated this notion, and insisted that they must tell the empe- 
ror the truth, after first skilfully and cautiously preparing his 
mind for it. ; 
“Il faudra le lui dire tout de méme,— We must tell him, 
aevertheless,” said the gentlemen of the suite. ‘“ Mais, 
messieurs ?? — 
_ The position was all the more difficult from the fact that 
she emperor, now that he had fully considered his schemes 
of magnanimity, was patiently pacing back and forth before 
she plan of the city, looking from time to time, with hand 
shading eyes, down the road to Moscow, and smiling with 
zayety and pride. . 
| “ Mais ¢est impossible!” exclaimed the gentlemen of the 
suite, shrugging their shoulders, and not venturing to pro- 
iounce the terrible word which all understood : de ridicule. 
| Meantime, the emperor wearied of his fruitless waiting, 
ind, by his quick, theatrical instinct, conscious that the 
‘majestic moment,” by lasting too long, was beginning to lose 
ts majesty, waved his hand. 
_ A single report of a signal gun rang forth, and the troops 
Which enclosed Moscow on all sides moved toward Mos- 
tow by the Tverskaya, Kaluzhskaya, and Dorogomilovskaya 
darriers. Swifter and swifter, one after another, at double- 
yuick or on galloping steeds, moved the troops, hidden in 
jlouds of dust raised by their trampling feet, and making the 
velkin ring with the commingling roar of their shouts. 
Carried away by the movement of the troops, Napoleon 
‘ode along with them to the Dorogomilovskaya barrier, but 
here again he paused, and, dismounting, walked for a long - 
‘ime down the Kammerkolezhsky rampart, in expectation of 
ihe deputation. 


| CHAPTER XxX. 


_ Moscow meantime was deserted. 

_ There were still people there ; five-sixths of all the former 
habitants were still left, but it was deserted. It was 
leserted just in the same sense as a starving bee-hive that has 


ost its queen bee, 


B02 WAR AND PEACE. 


In the queenless hive, life has practically, ceased, but ata 
superficial view it seems as much alive as others. 
Just as merrily in the bright rays of the midday sun the 
bees hum around the queenless hive, just as they hum around 
the other living hives; the honey smell is carried just as fan’ 
away; the’ bees make their flights from it just the same. 
But it requires only a glance into it to understand that there 
is no longer any life in that hive. The bees do not fly in the 
same way as from the living hives. -The bee-master recog; 
nizes a different odor, a different sound. When he taps on 
the walls of such a hive, instead of that instantaneous, 
friendly answer which had been the ease of yore, the buzzing 
of ten thousands of bees, lifting their stings threateningly, 
and the swift fanning of wings producing that familiar, airy 
hum of life, he is answered by an incoherent buzzing, a faint 
rumbling in the depths of the empty hive. \ 
From the apertures comes no more, as formerly, that fine, 
winy fragrance of honey and pollen, nor wafts thence that 
warm breath of garnered sweets, but the odor of the honey 
is mingled with the effluvium of emptiness and decay., 
No more you find at the entrance the guardians of the hive, 
trumpeting the alarm, curling up their stings, and making 
ready to perish for the defence of the swarm. No more thai 
equable and gentle murmur of palpitating work, like the 
sound of bubbling waters, but instead you hear the incohe- 
rent, fitful buzz of disorder. Back and forth around the hive 
coyly and cunningly, fly the black, oblong, honey-coated plun 
derer bees; they sting not, rather they sip away from peril. 
Before, they never flew in unless they were laden, but wher 
they flew out again they were stripped of their burden o | 







bee-bread; now they fly off laden with honey. 

The bee-master opens the lower compartment and look 
into the bottom of the hive. Instead of black bunches oj 
juicy bees bustling with labor, clinging to each other’s legs 
and hanging down to the very és (as the bottom board of th 
hive is called), and with the ceaseless murmur of labor, con 
structing the waxen walls, now stupefied, shrivelled bees crag 
here and there aimlessly across the floor and on the walls. 

Instead of a floor neatly jointed with propolis and swept 
by winnowing wings, he sees it littered with crumbs of cells 
and bee-dirt, half-dying bees scarcely able to move their legs 
and bees entirely dead and left unscavengered. 

The bee-master opens the upper compartment and looks a 
the top of the hive. | 


WAR AND PEACE. 308 


Instead of compact rows of bees filling all the cells of the 
ioneycomb and warming the larve, he sees, to be sure, the 
irtistic, complex edifice of the comb, but no longer in that 
‘tate of perfection which it had shown before. All is neg- 
ected and befouled. Dusky robber wasps make haste to 
hrust their impertinences stealthily among the works; his 
nwn bees, shrivelled, curled up, withered, as though old age 
iad come upon them, languidly crawl about, disturbing no 
me, wishing for naught, and balked of all consciousness of 
ife. Drones, bumble- “bees, beetles, and bee-moths come blun- 
lering | in their flight against the walls of the hive. Here and 
here among the ‘cells filled with honey and dead larvee can 
ye heard occasionally an angry briuzhzh ; now and then a pair 
if bees, through old custom and instinct, try to clear out the cell, 
ond, zealously « exerting all their feeble forces, drag forth the dead 
vee or dead drone, themselves not knowing w hy they do so. 

In another corner two aged bees lazily fight, or clean them- 
elves, or feed each other, ‘not knowing whether friendship or 
mmity impels them. In still*a third place, the throng of 
yeeS, crowding one another, fall upon some victim and strike 
nd suffocate it. And there a weakened or injured bee falls 
lowly and lightly, like eider down, from above upon the heap 
if the dead. 

The bee-master breaks open some of the waxen cells, in 

der to see the brood. Instead of the compact black circles 
vith thousands of bees crouched back to back and contem- 
lating the lofty mysteries of generation, he sees hundreds of 
lowneast, half-dead, unconscious skeleton bees. Almost all 
f them have died ‘unconsciously, as they sat in the holy of 
tolies, which they had been guarding, and from which, long 
go, the spirit had fled. From them arises the effluvium of 
lecay and death. 
Only a few of them stir feebly, try to lift themselves, fly 
ndolently and settle on the hostile hand without strength 
eft to sting it ere they die—the rest that are dead shower 
lown like fish scales. 

The bee-master shuts up the compartment, puts a chalk 
nark on the stand, and when the time comes, knocks it open 
aie drains out the honey. 

In the same way Moscow was deserted, when Napoleon, 
veary, uneasy, and in bad humor, walked back and forth at 
‘he Kammerkolezhsky ramparts, ‘waiting for the deputation 
=a ceremony which, although one of mere show, he neverthe- 
ess affected to consider absolutely indispensable. 

VOL. 3,— 23. ° 


354 WAR AND PEACE. 


It was only out of thoughtlessness that in the various quar. 
ters of the city men still stirred about, keeping up the ordi- 
nary forms of life, and not themselves realizing what they 
were doing. . 4. . 

When at last Napoleon was informed, with proper circum- 
locution, that Moscow was deserted, he gave his informant 4 
fierce look, and, turning away, continued his silent promenade. 

“Have my carriage brought!” he said. ' He took his seat 
in it by the side of his aide-de-camp and rode into the suburb. 

“ Moscou déserte! Quel événement invraisemblable ! — How 
incredible!” he muttered to himself. 

He did not enter the city proper, but put up at a hotel in 
the Dorogomilovsky suburb. 

Le coup de thédtre avait raté— His theatrical climax had 
fallen through. 


CHAPTER XXI. 


THE Russian troops poured across Moscow from two o’clock 
in the morning until two o’clock in the afternoon, and they 
had taken with them the last fleeing inhabitants and the 
wounded. 

The largest division of the troops during the movement passed 
over the Kamennoi, Moskovoretsky, and Yauzsky bridges. 

While they were flowing in two streams around the Kreml 
and over the two former—the Stone and Moscow River 
bridges — a tremendous mob of soldiers, taking advantage of 
the delay and crush, ran back from the bridge, and stealthily 
and noiselessly sneaked by Vasili Blazhennui* and through 
the Borovitskiya gates into the city, to the Krasnaya Plo- 
shchad or Red Place, where they knew, by their keen scent, 
that they might without much difficulty lay their hands on 
what did not belong to them. 

A similar throng of men, as though in search of cheap bar- 
gains, also thronged the Gostinnui Dvor— Moscow’s great 
bazaar — in all its alleys and passageways. But absent were 
the persistent, softly wheedling voices of the shopkeepers; 
absent the pedlers and the variegated throng of women pur- 
chasers. Nothing was to be seen but uniforms and the cloaks 
of weaponless soldiers, entering without burdens and. return- 
ing to the ranks laden with spoil. 


* Vasili Blazhénnui, the many-bulbed, turreted, fasceted, and fantastic 
cathedral of St. Basil, built by Ivan the Terrible, who, in order that it should 
not be reduplicated, had the architect’s eyes put out, 


wa - 





WAR AND PEACE. 300 


‘Merchants aud bazaar-men—a few of them—ran about 
imongst the soldiers, like crazy men, opéning and closing 
jheir shops, and themselves helping the gallant soldier lads £0 
varry off their wares. 

On the square in front of the Gostinnui Dvor stood drum- 
ners beating to arms, but the rattle of the drums had not its 
sual effect to call back the soldier plunderers, but on the con- 
vary drove them to run farther and farther from its signal. 

- Among the soldiers, at the shops and in the passageways, 
sould be seen mén in eray kaftans and with shaven heads. 

Two officers, one with a scarf over his uniform, and riding 
i thin, iron-gray steed, the other in a cloak and on foot, stood 
it the corner of Llyinka Street, engaged in conversation. A 
shird officer dashed up to them. 

_ “The general orders that they be all driven out instanter, at 
iny cost. Why, there was never the like of it seen! Half of 
ihe men have left the ranks. — Where are you going ? — And 
rou, too?” he cried, first to one and then to three infantry 
joldiers, who without their arms, and holding up the tails of 
jheir overcoats, were sneaking past him to rejoin their ranks. 
‘Halt, you dogs!” 

me Yes, but please try to collect them,” replied the other 
‘fficer. —“ You can’t do it! the only way is to march more 
‘apidly, and then the ones in the rear couldn’t drop out, that’s 
wll.” 

“But how move faster, or move at all, when there’s a halt 
md a jam at the bridge? Why not post sentinels, and keep 
jhem from breaking ranks ? ” 

“Forward and snake them out!” cried the senior officer. 

The officer in the scarf dismounted, beckoned up the drum- 
ner, and went with him under the arch. A number of sol- 
liers started on the double-quick. A merchant with red 
umples all over his cheeks and around his nose, and with an 
expression of cool, calculating composure, came ‘to the officer 
with all the haste compatible with his elegant dignity, and, 
wringing his hands: “ Your nobility,” said he, “do me @ 
“avor; give me your protection. As far as any small trifles £0 
‘ve are only too glad, you know, —if you please I will bring 
you some cloth instantly — glad enough to give a gentleman a 
rouple of rolls, it’s a pleasure to us because we are sure that 
‘—but this, this is out-and-out robbery! Please! if they 
aad only set a guard, or at any rate let us know in time to 
shut up” — 

A number of merchants gathered around the officer. 
| 


306 WAR AND PEACE. 


“Eh! it’s a waste of breath to whine like that!” said one 
of them, a lean man with a grave face. “Men with their 
heads off don’t weep for their hair!— Let ’em have what they 
want!” And he made an energetic gesture, and came to the 
officer’s side. | 

“It’s fine talk for you, Ivan Sidoruitch!” exclaimed the 
first speaker, angrily, — “ I beg of you, your nobility !” | 

“Fine talk!” echoed the lean man. “I have yonder three} 
shops, and a hundred thousand worth of goods. How can we} 
have protection when the troops are off? ‘God’s powers are 
not ours.’” * | 

“T beg of you, your nobility,” persisted the first merchant, 
making alow bow. -The officer stood in uncertainty, and his} 
face showed his irresolution. | 

“But, after all, what affair is it of mine!” he suddenly| 
cried, and went with swift strides toward the front of the line, 

In one shop that was open, resounded blows and curses, and, 
as the officer entered, one of the men in a gray kaftan ani) 
with shaven head was flung out violently. | 

This man, all doubled up, “slunk past the merchants and the of, 
ficers. The officer flew at the soldiers who wereintheshop. But 
just at that instant the terrible yells of a tremendous throng 
were heard on the Moskvoretsky Bridge, and the officer hurried| 
across the square. | 

“What is it? What is the matter?” he demanded; but) 
his comrade had already spurred off in the direction of the! 
outery, past Vasili Blazhennui. The officer mounted and set 
out after him. When he reached the bridge he saw two can-| 
non unlimbered, the infantry running along the bridge, several! 
telyegas overturned, a host of frightened faces, and all the sol-| 
diers roaring with laughter. | 

Near the cannons stood a team drawn by a pair of horses.| 
Behind the team, between the wheels, four grayhounds, witli) 
collars on, were huddled together. The team was loaded with 
a mountain of household furniture, and on the very top,| 
next a baby’s high-chair with its legs turned up in the air, 

sat a peasant woman uttering the most piercing, piteous| 
squeals. | 

The officer was told by his comrades that the yells of the 
throng and the woman’s squeals arose from the fact that Gen- 
eral Yermolof, when he rode up to this mob and learned thag| 
the soldiers were scattered about plundering the shops because 
of the crowd of citizens encumbering the bridge, had orderatl 


* Bozhyu Vlast’ nie rikami sklast’. 





| 


=... «i 





a 


WAR AND PEACE. Oot 


“the cannon to be unlimbered, and to clear the bridge as an ex- 


ample. ‘The crowd, trying to escape, overturning the teams, 
running into each other, yelling desperately, had cleared the 
‘bridge ; and the troops were allowed to proceed. 


CHAPTER XXII. 


THE city proper, meantime, was deserted. Almost no 


| one was on the streets. The house gates and shops were all 


locked up. Here and there, in the vicinity of drinking- 


“saloons, could be heard occasional shouts of revelry or 
' drunken singing. Not a carriage passed along, and rarely 


_ were heard the steps of pedestrians. 


In the Povarskaya it was perfectly still and deserted. The 


/ enormous courtyard of the Rostofs was littered with wisps 


_ of straw and the droppings of the horses ; not a soul was visible. 


In the house itself, abandoned with all its costly contents, 


“two human beings were in the great drawing-room. These 
‘were the dvornik, Ignat, and the groom, Mishka, Vasilyitch’s 


grandson, who had been left behind with the old man, in Mos: 


' cow. Mishka had opened the harpsichord, ard was drumming 
on it with one finger. The dvornik, with his arms akimbo, 





and with a smile of self-satisfaction, was standing in front 


- of the mirror. 


“Wan’t that smart? Hey? Uncle Ignat ?” asked the lad, 
suddenly beginning to pound with both hands on the keys. 

“ Would you mind!” * replied Ignat, the smile that an- 
swered his smile in the glass growing ever broader and broader 


| with amazement. 


“You unconscionable creatures! Aren’t you ashamed of 
yourselves!” suddenly exclaimed the voice of Mavra Kuzmi- 


; mitchna, who had stolen noiselessly into the room. “Eka! 
| what a conceited simpleton grinning at his own teeth! That’s 
| @ nice way to treat us! There’s nothing put away yon, and 


Vasilyitch clean beat out! Have done with this!” 

Ignat, hitching up his belt, ceased to smile, and, submissively 
dropping his eyes, left the room. 

“Little auntie,* I was playing very softly!” said the lad. 

“TV’ll softly you! You little scamp!” cried Mavra Kuzmi- 
nitchna, shaking her fist at him. “Go, get ready the samovar 


» for your granddad! ” 


Mavra Kuzminitchna, whisking the dust from the harpsi 
* Ish tui. t Tyotinka. 


358 WAR AND PEACE. 


chord, closed it, and with a heavy sigh left the drawing-room 


and locked the door behind her. 


On reaching the dvor, Mavra Kuzminitchna paused to con- 
sider where she should next turn her steps; whether to drink © 


tea with Vasilyitch in the wing, or to the storeroom to finish 
putting away what was still left to put away. 

Swift steps were heard coming down the quiet street. : The 
steps halted at the wicket gate; a hand rattled the latch and 
tried to open it. 

Mavra Kuzminitchna went to the gate. 

“Who is wanted ?” 

“The count, Count Ilya Andreyitch Rostof.” 

“Who are you?” 


“An officer. I should much like to see him,” said a pleas- 


ant, gentlemanly voice. 

Mavra Kuzminitchna opened the wicket. And into the dvor 
walked a chubby-faced officer of about eighteen, with a strong 
family resemblance to the Rostofs. 


“They have. gone, batyushka. They were pleased to go 
yesterday afternoon,” said Mavra Kuzminitchna, in an affec- 


tionate tone. 
The young officer standing in the gateway, as though unde- 
cided whether to come in or to go away, clucked his tongue. 
“Akh! what ashame!” he exclaimed. “I ought to have 
come yesterday —Akh! What a pity !” 








Mavra Kuzminitchna, meantime, had been attentively and 
sympathetically scrutinizing the familiar Rostof traits in the — 


young man’s face, and his well-worn cloak and the run-down | 


boots that he wore. 

“But what do you want of the count ?” she asked. 

“ Now I declare! What can I do?” exclaimed the young 
man, in a tone of vexation, and took hold of the wicket with 
the intention of going away. Then he paused again irreso- 
lutely. . 


“ You see,” said he, suddenly, “I am a relative of the — 


count’s, and he has always been very good to me. Just look 
here, do you see ? ” —he glanced down at his cloak and boots 
with a frank, gay smile. —‘“ And I’m getting out at elbows, 
and I haven’t a copper; so I was going to ask the count ” — 
Mavra Kuzminitchna did not allow him to finish speaking. 
“You just wait a wee minute,* batyushka!” said she. “Just 
one wee minute.” And the instant the young officer had let 


go of the latch, Mavra Kuzminitchna turned about, and, with 


* Minututchka. 





WAR AND PEACE. 359 


her old woman’s gait, she rapidly waddled across the rear 
_dvor to the wing where her own rooms were. 

~ While Mavra Kuzminitchna was trotting off to her room, 
the officer walked up and down the dvor, dropping his head, 
contemplating his ragged boots, and slightly smiling. 

“Whata shame that I have missed my dear little uncle. 
But what a nice old woman! Where did she goto? And I 
should like to know what is the nearest way for me to reach 

‘ny regiment : it must have got to the Rogozhskaya gate by 
_this time,” said the young officer to himself. 
_ Mayra Kuzminitchna, with a terrified and, at the same time, 
resolute face, and carrying in her hand a checkered handker- 
chief tied into a knot, came hurrying back from her room. 
Before she had gone many steps she untied the handkerchief, 
and took out of it a “ white note” of twenty-five rubles assig- 
nats, and hastily handed it to the officer. 

“Tf his illustriousness were at home, of course, he would 
help a relative, but as it is perhaps —these times” — Mavra 
‘Kuzminitchna faltered, and grew confused; but the officer had 
‘no scruples, and showed no haste, but he grasped the bank- 
‘note, and thanked Mavra Kuzminitchna. 

“Christ be with you— Khristos s vami, batyushka — God 
save you!” exclaimed’ Mavra Kuzminitchna, making a low 

dbeisance, and going down to the gate with him. 

The officer smiled as though amused at himself, and, shaking 
his head, started off down the deserted streets, almost at a 
run, in order to overtake his regiment at the Yauzsky Bridge. 

But Mavra Kuzminitchna stood long with tears in her eyes in 
front of the closed wicket gate, contemplatively shaking her 
head, and conscious of an unusual gush of motherly affection 

and pity for the young officer, whom she had never seen before. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


In an unfinished house, in the Varvarka, the lower part of 
‘which was occupied by a drinking-saloon, were heard drunken 
‘shouts and songs.. On benches, by the tables in the small, 
filthy room, sat a dozen or so of factory hands. All of them 
‘were tipsy, sweaty, with clouded eyes, and they were singing 
-with wide, yawning mouths and bloated cheeks. They were 
| Singing, each on his own account, laboriously, with all their 
“might and main, apparently not because they felt like singing, 


| 
4 
: 
. 


360 WAR AND PEACE. 


but simply to show that they were intoxicated and were on a 
spree. 

erie of them, a tall, fair-complexioned young fellow, in a 
clean blue chika or smock-frock, was standing up as their 
leader. His face, with its delicate, straight nose, would have 
been handsome had it not been for the thin, compressed, con- 
stantly twitching lips, and the clouded, ugly-looking, unchan- 
ging eyes. He stood over them as they sang, and, apparently 
possessed ‘by some fancy, he solemnly, and with angular 
motion, waved his white arm, bare to the elbow, while he tried 
to spread his dirty fingers to an unnatural extent. The 
sleeve of his chika was constantly coming down, and the 
young fellow kept tucking it up again with his left hand, as 
though it were especially important to keep that white, blue- 
veined, restless arm entirely bare. 

While they were in the midst of the song, the sound of a 
scuffle and fisticuffs was heard on the steps -leading to the 
entry. The tall young man waved his hand. “That'll do!” 
he cried imperatively; “a fight, boys!” and he, while still 
trying to keep his sleeves tucked up, hastened out to the » 
steps. 

The factory hands staggered after him. The factory hands, 
who had that morning been singing ii the kabak under the 
leadership of the tall young fellow, had brought the tapster 
some hides from the factory, and exchanged them for wine. 
Some blacksmiths, from a neighboring smithy, hearing the 
rumpus in the kabak, and supposing that it had been violently 
broken open, thought that they would hke to take a hand also. 

A quarrel had ensued on the steps. The tapster had gotten 
into a squabble with one of the smiths at the very door, and 
just as the factory hands arrived on the scene, this blacksmith 
tore himself free from the tapster, and fell face down on the 
sidewalk. 

A second blacksmith forced his way into the door, and was 
pressing up against the tapster with his chest. 

The young fellow, with the sleeve rolled up, as he came out, 
dealt the obstreperous blacksmith a heavy blow in the face, 
and cried savagely, — 

“Boys! they’re killing ours !” 

By this time the first blacksmith had picked himself up, and, 
dashing off the blood from his bruised face, he set up a lachry- 
mose yell, — | 

¢ Police! murder! — A man killed! Help!” 

“Oi batyushki! they’re murdering a man! There’s murder 


ster, —“ but you have to killa man? You murderer 


WAR AND PEACE.  eBy 


going on!” screamed a woman, running out from the gates of 


the adjoining house. A throng of the populace collected 
around the bleeding blacksmith. 

_ “Isn’t it enough for you to plunder the people, and rob 
them of their last shirt,” cried some voice, addressing the tap- 
1»? 


The tall young fellow, standing on the steps, rolled his 


| bleary eyes first on the tapster, then on the smiths, as though 


trying to make up his mind which first he was in duty bound 
to take up the quarrel with. “ Murderer!” he suddenly cried 
to the tapster. “Tie him, boys!” 

“So I’m the one-to be tied, am 1?” yelled the tapster, 
‘defending himself against the men who started to lay hands 


, on him, and, snatching off his cap, he flung it on the ground. 


As though this action had some mysterious, ominous signifi- 
cance, the factory hands who had surrounded the tapster 
paused irresolute. 

“1m for order, brother, I understand very well. I’m going 
for the police. Yousuppose I won’t go? All rioting to-day was 
‘particularly forbidden !” cried the tapster, picking up his cap. 

“ Come on, then, let’s go!” and “Come on, then, let’s go!” 
eried first the tapster, and then the tall young man, and they 

moved down the street, side by side. The bloody-faced black- 
‘smith fell in with them. The factory hands and a motley 
crowd of people followed them, talking and shouting. 

At the corner of Moroséika Street, opposite a great house 

with closed shutters, and a shoemaker’s signboard on it, stood 


-ascore of journeymen shoemakers with dismal faces — lean, 


weary-looking men, in khalats and torn chtiikas. 
“He ought to settle his men’s accounts!” exclaimed a thin 
master workman with a Jewish beard and knitted brows. 


© But now he’s sucked our very blood, and thinks it’s quits! 


He’s led us by the nose, yes, he has for a whole week. And 
now he’s got us to the last post, and has skipped himself.” 
When the master workman saw the bloody-faced man and 


the crowd, he ceased speaking, and all the bootmakers, with 


eager curiosity, joined the hurrying crowd. 
“ Where’s the crowd going ?” 


| “Why, everybody knows! We’re going to the nachalnik!” 


“Say! Is’t true that ours is beaten ? ” 

“You thought so, did you! See what the men’s saying!’’ 
Questions and answers were exchanged. The tapster, taking 
advantage of the growing mob, stepped aside from the people 
‘and returned to his kabak. 

‘ 





362 WAR AND PEACE. 


The tall young man, not noticing the disappearance of his 
enemy the tapster, and waving his bare arm, went on speaking 
vociferously, attracting general attention. The crowd huddled 
close around him pre-eminently, supposing that he might be 
able to give some reasonable answer to the questions that in- 
terested them all. 

“He talk about order! talk about laws! Why, we must 
depend on the authorities! Ain’t I right, orthodox believers ?” 
cried the tall young fellow, almost noticeably smiling. “ Does 
he think there ain’t any authorities? How could we get 
along without authorities ? If it weren’t for them, why, we’d 
—there’d be no end of plundering!” 

«What nonsensical talk!” cried some speaker in the crowd. 
“Why, then, have they gone and left Moscow? They have 
been making fun of you, and you swallowed it all down!” — 
“How many of our soldiers are there on the march! So you 
think they’ll let him in, do you?”—“That’s what the 
‘authorities is for!’ — “Just listen to yon! What baby talk 
he’s giving us!” Such were the remarks made in the crowd 
called out by the tall young fellow’s words. 

Near the walls of the Kitai Gorod* another small knot of 
men were gathered around a man in a frieze cloak, who held 
a sheet of paper in his hands. 

“The ukase! the ukase! He’s reading the ukase! he’s 
reading the ukase !” cried various voices in the throng, and the 
populace rushed toward the reader. 

The man in the frieze overcoat was reading Rostopchin’s 
“placard” —the afishka of September eleventh. When the 
crowd gathered round him he became, as it were, confused, but 
at the demand of the tall young fellow, who forced his 
way up to him, he began at the beginning of the afishka 
again. 

“To-morrow morning early I am going to his serene high- 
-ness the prince,” read the young man with a slight tremor 
in his voice. “His serene highness!” repeated the tall 
young fellow triumphantly with a smile on his lips, and a 
frown on his brow — “in order to talk things over with him, 
to act and to help the troops exterminate the villains. We'll 
knock the wind out of them,” pursued the reader and paused. 


* The so-called ‘‘China Town’ of Moscow: ‘‘ perhaps derived from 
Kitai-gorod in Podolia, the birthplace of Helena, mother of Ivan IV., wh? 
founded the Kitai of Moscow, enclosing the bazaars and palaces of the nobles 
and separated from the Kreml by a vast space called the Red Place, or Place 
Beautiful.” —(A. RAMBAUD.) 


WAR AND PEACE. 362 


“Has he seen him?” cried the tall young fellow triumphantly. 
| * He’s kept clear of him the whole distance!” 

_ “And we shall send these guests of ours to the devil. I 
am coming back to dinner, and will then set to work and 
we'll give it to these rascals hot and heavy, and wipe ’em out 
of existence.” * 

The final words were read by the reader in utter silence. 
‘The tall young fellow gloomily dropped his head. It was 
‘evident that no one understood those final words. Especially 
_the sentence “I shall come back to dinner,” offended the good 
sense of the reader even, and the hearers as well. The feeling 
of the populace was pitched to a high key, and this was too 
simple and unnecessarily commonplace; it was exactly what 
each one of them might have said, and therefore what a 
‘ukase emanating from the supreme authority had no business 
to say. 

_ All stood in melancholy silence. The tall young fellow 
pursed his lips and swayed slightly. 

_ “Why not go and ask him ?” — “There is he himself ! ” — 
“How would you ask him?”— “Why not?”— “He will 
explain it to us’””»— Such were the remarks heard in different 
parts of the crowd, and general attention was directed to the 
‘drozhsky of the politsimeister or chief of police, driving 
across the square accompanied by two mounted dragoons. 

_ The chief of police had been that morning by the count’s 
orders to set fire to the boats, and, as it happened, this errand 
had procured for him a goodly sum of money which at that 
very moment was safely reposing in his pocket. When he 
Saw a great throng of people hurrying toward him he com- 
manded the driver to pull up. . 

“What is this crowd ?” he shouted to the men who came 
‘up timidly ahead of the others, and paused near the drozhsky. 

“What is this crowd? I should like to know,” asked the 
politsimeister, who had received no answer. 
_ “Your nobility, they ” — began the man in the frieze cloak 
who had been the reader, “your nobility, they — they accept 
the most illustrious count’s proclamation, and are willing to 
‘Obey, and they don’t value their lives, and this isn’t a riot at 
all, they wouldn’t think of stirring one up, as the most illus- 
| count ” — 

“The count has not gone, he is in town, and arrangements 
‘wilt be made for you. Drive on — pashol” — cried he to the 
coachman. The crowd stood quietly pressing around those 


c 
¥ 


' 


* Sdiélayem, dediélayem i otdiélayem. 





364 WAR AND PEACE. 


who had heard what the official said, and looking at the 
receding drozhsky. 
Just then the politsimeister glanced around in terror, said 
something to his coachman, and his horses were sent off at a 
sharper trot. : 
“Fooled, boys! Let us go to the count himself!” cried 
the tall young fellow. — “Don’t let him escape!” — “ Make; 
him give an account!” — “Hold him,” eried various voices, | 
and the men started on the run afterthe drozhsky. 
The crowd following the chief of police hurried along with ), 
a roar of voices to the Lubyanka. 
“How is this? The gentry and the merchants have all 
gone off, and we are betrayed! What! are we dogs, that we | 
are left?’ was said by more than one in the crowd. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 


On the evening of September 13, after his interview with 
Kutuzof, Count Rostopchin, offended and wounded because he 
had not been invited to the council of war, and because Kutuzof 
paid no attention to his offer to take part in defence of the 
capital, amazed at the discovery that he had made while at the 
camp, that the tranquillity of the capital and the patriotic 
disposition of its inhabitants were regarded not merely of 
secondary importance, but rather as absolutely trivial and insig- 
nificant — offended, wounded and amazed by all this, Count 
Rostopchin had returned to Moscow. 

After finishing his dinner, the count, without undressing, lay 
down on his couch, and at one o’clock was awakened by a courier 
who brought him a letter from Count Kutuzof. In this letter 
Kutuzof, after informing him that the troops were to retire 
beyond Moscow along the Riazan highway, asked the count if 
he would be good enough to send a number of police chinovy: 
niks to conduct the troops across the city. | 

This was no news to Count Rostopchin. Not only during 
his conference with Kutuzof on the Poklonnaya Hill, but ever 
since the battle of Borodino, when all the generals who came 
to Moscow declared with one voice that it was impossible to 
give battle, and when, by the count’s consent, the crown treas- 
ure had been sent out of the city, and already half of the 
inhabitants had left, Count Rostopchin was well aware that 
Moscow was to be abandoned; but nevertheless this news, 
conveyed in the form of a simple note, containing Kutuzof’s | 


WAR AND PEACE. 885 
ymmand and received at midnight, in the midst of his first 
eep, amazed and annoyed the count. 

Afterwards in explaining his action at that time, Count 
ostopchin wrote in several instances that he had two 
gjects of especial importance in view: de maintenir la tran- 
willité &@ Moscou et Men fuire partir les hubitants — “to main- 
un good order in Moscow, and to expedite the departure of 
ae inhabitants.” 

‘If we grant this twofold object, any of Rostopchin’s actions 
ould be irreproachable. Why were not the precious things 
' Moscow carried away, — weapons, cartridges, powder, stores 
‘grain? Why were thousands of the inhabitants treacher- 
isly informed, to their ruin, that Moscow was not to be 
jyandoned ? 

“To preserve tranquillity in the capital,” is Count Rostop- 
1in’s explanation and answer. | 

Why were packages of unnecessary papers from the coutt- 
muse and Leppich’s ballodén, and other articles sent out ?. “In 
der to leave the city empty,” again says Count Rostopchin’s 
planation.’ 

Only grant the premise that this and that threatened the 
ty’s tranquility, and every sort of procedure would be 
stifiable. 

All the horrors of the Terror were based merely on the 
tempt to preserve the tranquillity of Paris. 

On what was based Count Rostopchin’s effort to keep the 
oscow populace tranquil in 1812? What reason was there 
Tsupposing that any tendency toward popular disturbance 
isted in the city? ‘The citizens had left, the troops retreat- 
g filled Moscow. Why should this have led to any riots 
aong the people ? 

‘Neither in Moscow alone nor anywhere in all Russia, during 
€invasion of the enemy, was there anything like an insur- 
ection. On the thirteenth and fourteenth of September, more 
an ten thousand inhabitants remained in Moscow, and 
‘cept the crowd collected in the governor-general’s dvor, and 
‘at at his own instigation, there was no trouble. 

‘Evidently there would have been still less reason to ex- 
(et excitement among the populace if Rostopchin, after the 
‘ttle of Borodino, when the abandonment of Moscow was 
‘ident or at least probable, had, instead of stirring up the 
‘Ople by the distribution of arms and placards, taken 
asures to remove all the treasure, the gunpowder, the 
‘ojectiles and the specie, and fairly explained to the people 
at the city was to be abandoned. 





366 vAR AND PEACH. 


Rostopchin, a hot-tempered, sanguine man, who had alway 
been concerned in the higher administrative circles, though h¢ 
had genuine patriotic feeling, had not the slightest comprehen| 
sion of that populace which he thought he directed. Fron 
the earliest occupation of Smolensk by the enemy, Rostopchin| 
in his imagination, conceived that he was to play the part of 
director of the popular sentiment in the heart of Russia. Not} 
only did it seem to him —as it seems to every administrator --) 
that he was ruling the external affairs of the inhabitants of 
Moseow, but it seemed to him that he directed their impulsey 
by means of his proclamations and “placards ” composed in thai 
rakish style which makes the people contemptible, and whicl} 
they do not comprehend when they hear it from their superiors} 
The beautiful réle of director of the popular sentiment wai 
so pleasing to Rostopchin, he stuck to it so assiduously, thai 
the imperative necessity for him to step down and out of it, --| 
the imperative necessity of abandoning Moscow, with any 
heroic climax, took him by surprise; and the ground on whiel| 
he had been standing was suddenly cut out from under, and h¢ 
really knew not what to do. al 

Although he foresaw it, still with all his soul he refused t¢ 
believe, until the last moment, that Moscow was’ to be aban} 
doned, and he did nothing with that end in view. The inhab 
itants left the city against his will. If he sent out the court 
records, it was only because the chinovniks insisted upon it! 
and the count consented against his better judgment. 

He himself was wholly occupied in that 76/e which he ha 
taken upon himself. As often happens with men endowed 
with a vivid imagination, he had long before known that Mog 
cow would have to be abandoned, but he knew it only by hi 
reason, and his whole soul revolted against the belief becaus} 
he was not yet carried by his imagination to the height 9 
this new position. | 

All his activity, assiduous and energetic as it was, — hoy 
far it was profitable and re-acted upon the populace, is anothe| 
question, — all his activity was directed simply toward arousi 
in the inhabitants the feeling which he himself experienced - 
of patriotic hatred against the French, and confidence in hur 
self. 

But when the event assumed its actual historical propo: 
tions, when it seemed trivial to express his hatred merely i 
words against the French, when it was no longer possible t 
express this hatred by a conflict, when self-confidence beg? 
to appear disadvantageous in face of the one great questi¢ 












WAR AND PEACE. 367 


nat concerned Moscow, when the whole population like one 
an, flinging away their possessions, streamed out of Moscow, 
‘roving by this act of negation all the power of the popu- 
(ww sentiment, — then the réle which Rostopchin had selected 
2emed suddenly absurd. He suddenly felt himself alone, 
veak, and ridiculous, with nothing solid to stand upon. 

On being wakened from sound “sleep and receiving a cold 
nd imperative note from Kutuzof, Rostopchin felt all the 
ore excited from the very euiltiness to which he confessed. 
werything that had been expressly intrusted to him was left 
1 Moscow —all the crown treasures that he should have had 
smoved out of the city. There was now no possibility of 
vetting them away. 
i “Who is to blame for this? Who let it come to this? ” he 
used “Of course it was not I. As far as I was concerned, 
verything was all ready. I held Moscow as ina vice. And 
ais i is the pass to which they have brought things. Knaves! 

vaitors!” he exclaimed mentally, not having a very clear idea 
aad he meant to apply the terms knave and traitor, but 
eling that he was in duty bound to hate these traitors, who- 
ver they were, who were to blame for the false and ridiculous 

‘osition in which he found himself. 
| All that night Rostopchin gave out orders to all who came 
wv them from every part of Moscow. His intimates had 
ever seen the count so gloomy and irascible. 

_ “Your illustriousness, a messenger from the Chancery De- 
artment for orders ” — “from the Consistory ” — “from the 
enate ” — ‘from the University” —‘“from the Foundling 
sylum ” — “the suffragan has sent to” — “wants to know ” 








What orders are to be given to the fire brigade ?”’ — “the 
yperintendent of the prison ’” — “the director of the Lunatic 
Sylum.” 


Lhus all night long without cessation reports were brought 

ythe count. To all these queries the count gave curt and 
irly answers, which showed that any regulations of his were 
‘ow unnecessary, that all the preparations which he had so 
wefully elaborated some one had now rendered nugatory, and 
iat this some one would have to shoulder all the responsibility 
r what was now taking place. 
“Well, tell that blockhead that it is his business to guard 
‘Is papers,” he replied to the query from the Chancery De- 
artment. ‘Well, now, what is that rot about the fire bri- 
ale ?” — “If they have horses let ’em go to Vladimir!” — 
Don’t leave them for the French.” 





368 WAR AND PEACE. 


“ Your illustriousness, the overseer of the Lunatic Asylum 
is here: what orders do you give to him?” . 

“What orders? Let ’em all out, that’s all—let the luna 
ties loose in the city. When lunatics are at the head of our 
armies, God_means for these to be out !’> 

When asked what to do with the convicts who were in the 
jail, the count wrathfully shouted to the inspector : — “ What? 
Did you expect me to give you a couple of battalions as escort, 
when there aren’t any to be had? Let ’em out; that’s all.”)| 

‘Your illustriousness, there ‘are the politicals, Mieshkof 
and Vereshchagin.” 

“Vereshchagin! Isn’t he hanged yet?” screamed Rostop- 
chin — “ Bring him to me.” 





CHAPTER XXYV. 


By nine o’clock A.m., when the troops were already on the 
way across Moscow, no one any longer came to ask the count 
what dispositions were to be made. All who could leave had 
left on their own responsibility : those who remained behind 
decided for themselves what it was necessary for them to do. 

The count commanded his horses to be brought round to 
take him to Sokolniki, and he was sitting in his cabinet with 
folded arms, scowling, sallow, and glum. 

To every administrator in quiet, stormless times, it 
seems that only by his efforts the population committed ta 
his care lives and moves, and in this consciousness of his i1- 
dispensable services he finds the chief reward for his labors 
and efforts. 

It is easy to see that, so long as the historical sea is calm, 
the pilot-administrator in his fragile craft, who holds by Is 
boat-hook to the ship of State, and while moving, must imi 
gine that it is by his efforts the ship which he is steering 
moves. But only let a storm arise, the sea grow tempestuous 
and toss the ship itself, and then any such illusion is imposst- 
ble. The ship drives on in its own prodigious, independent 
course, the boat-hook is not sufficient for the tossing ship, and 
the pilot is suddenly reduced from the position of director, 
the fountain-head of force, to a humiliated, useless, and feeb! 
man. 

Rostopehin realized this, and this was what vexed his soul. 

The chief of police, who had been stopped by the throng, 
came to the count at the same time as his adjutant, wh 

















WAR AND PEACE. 369 


rought word that the horses were ready. Both were pale; 
‘nd the politsimeister, having reported the accomplishment of 
ds commission, informed the count that the dvor was full of 
, throng of people desiring to see him. 

Rostopchin, not answering a single word, got up and with 

wift strides passed into his luxurious, brilliant drawing-room, 
vent to the baleony door, took hold,of the latch, then dropped 
{ again and crossed to the window, from which the whole 
hrong could be seen. 
_ The tall young fellow with a sullen face was standing in 
he front row, gesticulating, and making some remark. The 
loody-faced blacksmith stood next him. Through the closed 
vindows could be heard the roar of their voices. 

“ Carriage ready ?” asked Rostopchin, leaving the window. 
' “Tt is, your illustrionsness,” said the adjutant. 

_ Rostopcehin again went to the balcony door. 

“ Now what dothey want ?” he asked of the politsimeister. 

“Your illustriousness, they declare that they have come by 
‘our orders, ready to go out against the French. But it is a 
iotous mob, your illustriousness. I escaped with my life. 
Your illustriousness, may I be bold enough to suggest ” — 

“ Be good enough to withdraw ; I know what is to be done, 
vithout your advice,” savagely screamed Rostopchin. He 
tood by the balcony door, looking down at the throng. 
‘This is what they have brought Russia-to! This is the way 
hey have treated me!” brooded Rostopchin, feeling uncon- 
rollable rage rising in his heart against whoever might be 
considered as the cause of what had taken place. As often 
lappens with hot-tempered men, he was overmastered by rage, 
mut he was still in search of some scapegoat on whom to vent it. 

-“ Look at that populace, the dregs of the people,” he said to 
uimself, in French, as he gazed down at the mob. . “ The plebs 
tirred up by their folly! They must have a victim,” * came 
nto his head, as he gazed at the tall young fellow gesticulating 
lis arms. And this idea came into his head precisely for the 
-eason that he himself wanted a victim, an object for his wrath. 

“Carriage ready ?” he demanded a second time. 

“It is, your illustriousness. What orders do you give in 
yegard to Vereshchagin? He is waiting at the stairs,” replied 
‘he adjutant. 

. “Ah!” cried Rostopchin, as though struck by some unex- 
»ected thought. 


f 


* “ Ta voila la populace, lalie du peuple, la plébe qu’ils ont soulevée pat 
‘eur sottise. Jl leurs faut une victime.” 


| VOL. 3. ara 24, 





370 WAR AND PEACE. 






And, quickly throwing the door open, he went with resolut 
steps out upon the balcony. The talking suddenly hushed; 
hats and caps were doffed, and all eyes were turned on the 
count. | 

“Good-day, children!” cried the count hurriedly, and in a 
loud tone. “Thank you for coming. I will be down directly 
but, first of all, we must settle the account witha villain. We 
must punish the villain who is the cause of Moscow’s ruin, 
Wait for me!” 

And the count retired from view, slamming the door behind 
him. 

An approving roar of satisfaction ran through the throng. 

“Of course he’ll settle with all villains!” — “You talked 
about the French!” — “He’ll bring things to order!” said 
the people, as though reproaching each other for their little 
faith. 

In a few minutes an officer came hastily out of the rear door, 
gave some order, and a line of dragoons was formed. The 
throng eagerly rushed from the balcony toward the steps. Ros- 
topchin, coming out angrily with swift steps upon the porch, 
looked around him, as though searching for some one. 

“Where is he?” asked the count. And, at the same in- 
stant that the words left his mouth, he saw coming around thé 
corner of the house, between two dragoons, a young man, with 
along, thin neck, and-with one-half of his head shaven, though 
the hair had begun to grow again. This young man was 
dressed in a tattered foxskin short tulup lined with blue cloth 
— it had once been a stylish garment — and dirty, hempen 
convict drawers, stuffed into fine boots, covered with mud and 
run down at the heels. On his slender, weak legs, he dragged 
along heavy iron shackles, which made his gait difficult and 
irresolute. 

“Ah!” exclaimed Rostopchin, hastily turning his eyes away 
from the young man in the foxskin tulupchik, and pointing to 
the lower step of the porch. 

“Stand him there!” 

The young man, with clanking chains, heavily dragged him- 
self to the spot indicated ; and, after pulling up with his finger 
the collar of his tulupchik, which pinched him, and twiee 
stretching out his long neck and sighing, he folded in front of 
his belly submissively his slender hands, which were not those 
of a man accustomed to work. Silence prevailed for several 
seconds, until the young man had fairly taken his position on 
the steps. Only in the rear of the crowd, where the people 





WAR AND PEACE. 371 


rere trying to press forward, were heard gruuts and groans 
-nd jostling and the shuffling of moving feet. 

Rostopchin, waiting until the prisoner was in the designated: 
Bice, frowned, and passed his hand over his face. 

“Children ! » ried he, in a voice ringing out with metallic 
learness, “this man, Vereshchagin, is the scoundrel who has 
ost us Moscow!” 

. The young man in the foxskin tulupchik stood in a submis- 
ive attitude, with his wrists crossed on his abdomen, and 
lightly stooping. He hung his head with its mutilation of 
haven hair; his young face wore a hopeless expression. At 
ne first words Spoken by the count, he slowly raised his head 
‘nd glanced at the count, as though wishing to say something, 
tr, at least, to get his eye. But Rostopchin looked not at 
‘im. On the young man’s long, slender neck, behind his ear, 
vein stood out like a whipcord, tense and livid, and his face 
uddenly flushed. 

All eyes were fastened upon him. He returned the gaze of 
he throng, and, as though he found some cause for hope in 
he expression of the faces, he gave a timid and pitiful smile, 
nd, again dropping his head, shifted his feet on the step. 
He is a traitor to his tsar and his country ; he has sold 
amself to Bonaparte; he alone out of all the Russians has 
hamed the name of Russian, and by him Moscow has been 
estroyed,” harangued Rostopchin in a steady, sharp voice; 
ut suddenly he gave a swift glance at Vereshchagin, who con- 
inued to stand in the same submissive attitude. This glance 
eemed to set him beside himself. Raising his hand, he 

houted, stepping almost down to the crowd, — 

. “Take the law into your own hands! I give him over to 
ou ! 9 

The throng made no answer, and merely pressed together 
ore and more densely. To be crushed together, to breathe 
n that infected atmosphere, to be unable to stir, and to expect 
omething unknown, incomprehensible, and terrible, was above 
iuman endurance. The men standing in the front row, who 
,aw and heard all that was taking place before them with 
tartled, wide-staring eyes and gaping mouths, exerted all 
heir force, and resisted with their backs the forward thrust 
snd pressure of the rear ranks. 

Kill him ! —let the traitor perish, and not shame the name 
Jf a Russian!” shouted Rostopchin. ‘Kill him! I order 
6!” The mob, hearing not the words but the venomous 
.ounds of Rostopchin’s voice, groaned and moved forward, then 
nstantly stood still again. 













312 WAR AND PEACE. 


“Count! ” exclaimed, amid the momentary silence tha’ 
had instantly ensued, the timid, but at the same time theatri| 
‘cal, voice of Vereshchagin, — ‘“ Count, there is one God ove 
us,’ — said Vereshchagin, lifting his head; and again the 
thick vein on his slender neck filled out with blood, and thd 
ved flush spread over his face and died away. He had noi 
said what he meant to say. | 
“Kill him! I order it!” shouted Rostopchin, suddenly grow} 
ing as pale as Vereshchagin. 
“Draw sabres!” commanded the officer to the dragoons| 
himself unsheathing his sabre. 
Another and still more violent billow rolled through thé 
crowd, and, running up to those in the front rows, it seemed te 
lift them, and, reeling, broke against the very steps of the 
porch. The tall young fellow, with a petrified expression of 
face, and with his hand arrested in mid-air, stood almost next! 
Vereshchagin. ‘ ; | 
“Cut him down!” came the whispered command of the 
officer to the dragoons; and, suddenly, one of the dragoons, 
his face distorted with rage, gave Vereshchagin a blow on the 
head with his dull broadsword. | 
“Ah!” cried Vereshchagin, who gave a short cry of amaze- 
ment, and looked around in terror and as though he could not! 
understand why this was done to him. The same groan of 
amazement as before ran through the throng. “O Lord—O 
Gospodi!”’ exclaimed some voice. | 
But, instantly following the cry of amazement uttered by| 
Vereshchagin, he gave a piteous shriek of pain, and that, 
shriek was his undoing. The barrier of humane feeling! 
stretched to the highest tension, and holding back the mob,| 
suddenly broke. The crime was begun, and it had to be 
accomplished. The lugubrious groan of reproach was swal-+ 
lowed up in a fierce and maddened roar of the mob. Like the 
seventh and last wave which wrecks the ship, this final, irre-| 
sistible billow impelled from the rear was borne through ta) 
those in front, overwhelmed them, and swallowed up every: 
thing. ‘ 

The dragoon who had used his sword was about to repeat! 
his blow. Vereshchagin, with a cry of horror, warding off the| 
stroke with his arm, leaped among the people. ‘The tall) 
young fellow, against whom he struck, grasped his slendet| 
neck with his hands, and with a savage yell fell together with) 
him under the trampling feet of the frenzied crowd. | 

Some beat and mangled Vereshchagin; others, the tall yeung| 





/ WAR AND PEACE, 373 


» fellow. And the cries and yells of the surging multitude and 
of the men who were trying to rescue the tall young fellow 
only the more excited the virulence of the mob. It was long 
before the dragoons were able to extricate the tall factory hand, 
who was half beaten to death, and covered with blood. And 
it was long, in spite of all the hot haste with which the throng 
strove to finish the job which they had begun, before those 
men who were beating, trampling, and mangling: Vereshchagin 
were able to kill him; but the throng pressed them on every 
) hand, and at the centre it was like a solid mass rocking and 
swaying from side to side, and gave them no chance either to 
‘finish with him or to let him 20. 

“Finish him with an axe, hey ?”’— “ They’ve crushed him 

| well.” — “ The traitor! he sold Christ.” — “Is he alive yet?” 
'—“He’s a tough one!” — “He gets his deserts.” — “ Try it 
with a bar!” — “Isn’t he dead yet ?” 
__ Only when the victim ceased to struggle, and his shrieks 
‘gave way to the measured, long death-rattle, did the mob begin 
‘hastily to avoid the spot where lay the corpse covered with 
“gore. Each one came up, gave a look at what had been done, 
-and, full of horror, remorse, and amazement, pressed back. 

“Q Lord, men are like wild beasts ! wonder any one was 
spared!” exclaimed some voice in the crowd. 

“And a young fellow too !’”” — “Must be a merchant’s son.” 

— “What a mob!”—“They say he’s the wrong one.” — 
“What do you mean—the wrong one?” —“O Lord!” — 
“Some one else was beaten to death too !”—“They say he just 
escaped with his life!” — “Oh, what people!” —“Ain’t ita 
sin to be afraid of ?”? These remarks were made by the same 
‘men, as with painfully pitiful faces they looked at the dead 
“body with the face smeared with blood and begrimed with 
dust, and the long, slender neck half hacked off. 
A zealous police chinovnik, thinking it unbecoming to have 
)a@corpse encumbering his excellency’s yard, ordered the dra- 
goons to drag it forth into the street. Two dragoons seized 
the body by the mutilated legs and hauled it out. The blood- 
stained, dust-begrimed, dead, shaven head, rolling on the long 
‘neck, was dragged along thumping upon the ground. The 
mob surged away from the corpse. 


= 


| ae 









At the moment that Vereshchagin fell, and the mob with a 
‘savage yell burst forward and rushed over him, Rostopchin 
turned suddenly pale, and, instead of going to the rear stairs, 
‘where his horses were waiting for hin, he, without knowing 


374 WAR AND PEACE. Ma 


where or wherefore, started with sunken head and swift steps | 
along the corridor that led to the rooms on the ground floor. | 
The count’s face was pallid, and he could not keep his lower | 
jaw from trembling as though he had an ague. 
“ Your illustriousness, this way — where are you going ? — 
this way if you please!” exclaimed a trembling, frightened | 
voice behind him. : | 
Count Rostopchin was in no condition to answer, and, obedi- | 
ently wheeling about, he took the direction whither he was 
called. At the rear entrance stood his calash. Even here the | 
distant roar of the excited mob reached his ears. Count Ros- | 
topchin hastily sprang into the carriage, and ordered the | 
coachman to drive to his suburban house at Sokolniki. | 
When they reached the Miasnitskaya, and the yells of the | 
mob were no longer heard, the count began to feel qualms of | 
conscience. He remembered now with dissatisfaction the | 
excitement and terror which he had displayed before his | 
subordinates. “La populace est terrible, elle est hideuse,” he | 
said to himself in French. “ J/s sont comme les loups qu’on ne | 
peut apaiser qwavec de la chair —they are like wolves, which | 
can only be appeased with flesh.” 
‘Count, there is one God over us!” Vereshchagin’s words | 
suddenly recurred to him, and a disagreeable feeling of chill | 
ran down his back. But this feeling was only momentary, | 
and Count Rostopchin smiled a scornful smile at himself. 
“T had other obligations,” he said to himself. “The people | 
had to be appeased. Many other victims have perished, and 
are perishing for the public weal.” * | 
And he began to consider the general obligation which he 
had toward his family, the capital committed into his keeping, | 
and his own safety — not as Feodor Vasilyevitch Rostopchin 
—he understood that Feodor Vasilyevitch Rostopchin would 
sacrifice himself for the bien publique —but as the governor- 
general and the repositary of power, and the authorized repre- | 
sentative of the tsar. 
“Tf I were only Feodor Vasilyevitch, ma ligne de conduite | 
autrait été tout autrement tracé—but as I was, I was in duty 
bound to preserve my life and the dignity of the governor- 
general.” | 
Slightly swaying on the easy springs of his equipage, and | 
no longer hearing the terrible sounds of the mob, Rostopchin | 
grew calmer physically, and, as always happens, simultaneously | 


* “ Pavais @autres devoirs. Il fallait apaiser le peuple. Bien Mautres | 
victimes ont péri et périssent pour le bien publique.” “5 8 





WAR AND PEACE. a1 


as physical calm returned his reason furnished him yet 
“for moral tranquillity. 

“The idea that soothed Rostopchin was not new. Never 

since the world began and people began to slaughter one 

‘another has man committed crime against his fellow without 

‘soothing himself with this idea. This idea is le bien publique 

—the hypothetical weal of other men. 

The man not carried away by his passions never knows 
“what this weal is, but the man who had committed a crime 
always knows very well what constitutes it. And Rostopchin 
now knew. 

He not only did not reproach himself for what he had done, 
but he even found reason for self-congratulation that he had so 
jhappily succeeded in taking advantage of this fortuitous cir- 
cumstance for punishing a criminal, and at the same time paci- 
fying the mob. 
| “Vereshchagin. was tried and condemned to death,” said 
Rostopchin to himself — though Vereshchagin had only been 
condemned by the Senate to the galleys. “ He was a traitor 
and a spy; I could not leave him unpunished, and, besides, I 
killed two birds with one stone — Je faisais d’une pierre deux 
‘coups. I offered a victim to pacify the people, and I punished 
‘an evil-doer.” 

By the time he reached his suburban house, and began 
to make his domestic arrangements, he had become perfectly 
calm. 

At the end of half an hour the“count was driving behind 
swift horses across the Sokolnichye Pole, with his mind per- 
‘fectly oblivious to what had happened, and thinking only of 
events tocome. He was on his way now to the Yauzsky 
bridge, where he had been tald Kutuzof was to be found. 

Count Rostopchin was preparing mentally the angry and 
‘eaustic reproaches with which he intended to load Kutuzof for 
deceiving him so: He would give that old court fox to under- 
stand that the responsibility for all the misfortunes which 
‘would flow from the abandonment of the capital, from the de- 
struction of Russia (as Rostopchin supposed it to be), would 
‘redound upon his old gray head, which was so entirely lacking 
in brains. While Rostopchin. was thinking over what he 
‘should say to him, he angrily straightened himself up in his 
‘calash and looked. fiercely about him on all sides. 

The Sokolnichye Pole was deserted. Only at one end, near 
)the poor-house and lunatic asylum, could be seen a few groups 
of men in white raiment and several solitaries of the same 








376 WAR AND PEACE. 


sort, who were hastening across the “field,” shouting some. 
thing and gesticulating. 

One of these men ran so as to cut off Count Rostopchin’s 
ealash. The count and his coachman and the dragsons all | 
gazed with a dull sense of terror and curiosity at these liber- | 
ated lunatics, and especially at the one who was running 
toward thei. 

The lunatic, unevenly bounding along on his long, thin legs, 
and with his white khalat flying out behind him, was running 
with all his might, not taking his eyes from the count, yelling | 
something in a hoarse voice and signalling for the carriage | 
to stop. His gloomy and impassioned face, overgrown with | 
uneven blotches of beard, was haggard and sallow. His dark, } 
agate-colored eyes, with their saffron whites, rolled frenziedly. | 

“Stop! Hold on, I say!” he eried in piercing tones, and 
panting he began again to shout with extravagant intonations | 
and gestures. } | 

He came up with the calash, and ran along by the side of it. | 

“Thrice have they killed me, thrice have I risen from the | 
dead. ‘'Fhey have stoned me, they have crucified me. I shall | 
rise again—I shall rise again —I shall rise again. _ They } 
have torn my body to pieces. They have overthrown the | 
kingdom of God. ‘Thrice shall I tear it down, and thrice shall | 
I build it again !” he yelled, raising his voice higher and higher, | 

Count Rostopchin suddenly paled, just as he had paled | 
when the mob threw itself om Vereshchagin. He looked | 
away. “Dri—drive faster!” he called to the coachman in 
a trembling voice. The calash sprang forward with all the | 
speed of the horses, but still for a long time the count could 
hear, growing more and more distant, that senseless, despairing | 
cry, while before his eyes all he could see was the amazedly | 
frightened, bloody face of the “traitor” in the fur tulupehik. | 

This vision was now so vivid that Rostopchin felt it was | 
deeply etched into the very substance of his heart. He now 
clearly realized that he should never outlive the bloody trace | 
of this recollection, but that, on the contrary, this terrible | 
remembrance, the longer he lived, even to the end of his days, | 
would grow more and more cruel, more painful. | 

He heard, so it seemed to him, even now the ring of his own 
words: “Kill him! If you don’t, you shall answer to me for 
it with your heads!” — , | 

“Why did I say those words?” he asked himself, almost | 
despairingly. “I need not have said them,” he thought, “and | 
then nothing would have happened.” | 





WAR AND PEACE. S77 













| He saw the face of the dragoon who gave the blow change 
from terror to ferocity, and the glance of silent, timid reproach 
( which that-young man in the foxskin tulup gave him — 

ks “But I did it not for myself. I was obliged to perform 
} that part. La plebe — le traitre —le bien publique,” he said to 
\ himself. 

| ‘The troops were still crowding the bridge over the Yauza. 
It was sultry. Kutuzof, with contracted brows and in dismal 
)mood, sat on a bench near the bridge, and was playing with 
(‘his whip in the sand, when a calash drove up to him in hot 
haste. A man wearing a general’s uniform and a plumed hat, 
(and with wandering eyes expressing a mixture of wrath and 
| terror, got out, and, approaching Kutuzof, began to say some 
| thing to him in French. 

This was Count Rostopchin. 

‘ He told Kutuzof that he had come to him because Moscow 
| and the capital were no more, and the army was all that was left. 
~ “Tt would have been different if your serene highness had 
i not told me you would not abandon Moscow without giving 
| battle ; then this would not have happened at all,” said he. 
Kutuzof glanced at Rostopchin, and, as though not taking 
/in the full significance of the words addressed to him, he 
| seemed to be exerting all his energies to read the peculiar 
/ expression that was written in the face of the man addressing 
| him. 

- Rostopchin grew confused, and stopped speaking. Kutuzof 
‘shook his head slightly, and, not taking his inquisitive glance 
from Rostopchin’s face, he said in a low tone, “No, we will 
not give up Moscow without a struggle !” 

Whether Kutuzof was thinking of something entirely aloof 
'when he said those words, or said them on purpose, knowing 
their absurdity, at all events Rostopchin made no reply, and 
‘hastily turned away from him. And, strange enough! the 
| governor-general of Moscow, the haughty Count Rostopchin, 
‘taking a whip in his hand, went to the bridge, and began to 
/ shout, and hurry along the teams that were blocked together 
there. | 


7 


CHAPTER XXVI. 


Ar four o’clock in the afternoon, the troops under Murat 
' entered Moscow. In front rode a detachment of Wiirttemberg 
 hussars; next followed the King of Naples in person, mounted, 
| and surrounded by a large suite. 


378 WAR AND PEACE. 


Near the centre of the Arbat, in the vicinity of the church | 
of Nikola Yavlennui,* Murat reined in, and waited for a report 
from the van as to the state of the city fortress, “le Kremlin.” | 
Around Murat gathered a small knot from among the citizens 
who had remained in Moscow. All gazed with shy perplexity | 
at this long-haired, foreign “nachalnik, ” so gorgeously bedi- | 
zened with feathers and gold. | 

“Say! that one’s their tsar, ain’t he?” queried low voices. 

The interpreter approached the knot of men. | 

“Hats off!’ — “ Hats!”. men were heard in the throng, 
admonishing one another. The interpreter addressed himself | 
to an old dvornik, and asked if it were far to the Kreml. The | 
dvornik, hearing the strange Polish accent with which the } 
man spoke, and not comprehending that he was speaking to | 
him in Russian, did not understand what was said to him, and | 
slipped behind the others. | 

Murat beckoned up the interpreter, and commanded him to 
ask where the Russian army was. One of the citizens made | 
out what was asked, and several voices suddenly began to | 
reply to the interpreter. A French officer came galloping | 
back from the van, and reported to Murat that the fortress 
gates were closed, and that probably there was an ambuscade. 

“Very good,” said Murat, and, addressing one of the gentle- | 
men of his suite, he commanded him to have four light field- 
pieces brought up, and to batter down the gates. 

The artillery set forth on the gallop from the column that | 
was just behind Murat, and crossed the Arbat. On reaching | 
the end of the Vozdvizhenka, or Holy-Rood Street, the artil- | 
lery stopped, and deployed on the square. A number of | 
French officers took command of the cannon, aiming them 
and scrutinizing the Kreml through their field-glasses. | 

The bells began to ring for vespers in the Kreml, and this 
sound startled the French. They supposed that it was an | 
alarm. Several of the infantry soldiers ran toward the | 
Kutafya gates. Beams and planks barricaded the gates. Two 
musket-shots rang sharply out from behind the gates as soon 
as the officer and his detachment started to approach. The 
general, standing by the cannon, shouted some command to 
the officer, and the officer and one of the soldiers hastened 
back. Three more musket-shots rang out from the gates. 
One shot wounded a French soldier in the leg, and a strange 
yell from many throats was heard behind the barricade. From 
the faces of the French — general, officers, and men — simul 


* St, Nicholas of the Miraculous Apparition, 





WAR AND PRACE. 879 


taneously, as though at word of command, vanished their 
‘former expression of gayety and calm, and in its place came 
‘an obstinate, concentrated expression of readiness for battle 
,and suffering. For all of them, from marshal down to the 
‘most insignificant soldier, this place was no longer the Vozd- 
‘vizhenka, Mokhovaya, Kutafya, and Troitskiya Gates, but 1t 
was the new locality of a new battle-field, in all probability 
destined to be deluged with blood; and all prepared for this 
battle. 

The yells from the gates ceased. The cannon were pointed. 
ae artillerists blew up their lighted slow-matches. The 
officer gave the command: few/ fire! and two hissing sounds 
of canister-shot followed one after the other. The grape clat- 
itered on the stones of the gateway, on the beams and the 
barricade, and two puffs of smoke floated away over the square. 
A few seconds later, when the echoes of the reports had 
died out along the stone walls of the Kreml, a strange noise 
was heard over the heads of the French. An enormous flock 
of jackdaws arose above the walls, and cawing, and flapping 
‘their countless wings, circled around in the air. At the same 
instant a single human yell was heard in the gates, and through 
the smoke appeared the figure of a hatless man in a kaftan. 
He held a musket, and aimed it at the French. “ Mew!” 
-eried the artillery officer a second time, and at exactly the 
same instant rang out one musket-shot and two cannon-shots. 
) Smoke again concealed the gates. 

Behind the barricade no one any longer moved, and the 
French infantry soldiers and their officers again approached 
‘the gates. At the gates lay three meu wounded and four 
| dead. Two men in kaftans were in full flight down along the 
walls to Znamenka. 
| & Hnlevez-moi ¢a—Clear ’em away,’ said the officer, indi- 

eating the beams and the corpses; and the French, finishing 
the wounded, flung the corpses down behind the fence. “Hn- 
| levez-moi ca” was all that was said about them, and they were 
| flung away, and afterwards were removed so as not to foul the 





air. Only Thiers consecrates to their memory a few eloquent 
| lines : — 
\ 


“These wretches had taken possession of the sacred stronghold, seized 


| fire-arms from the arsenal, and attacked the French. A few of them were 
put to the sword, and the Krem] was purged of their presence.’’ * 


—* “ Ces misérables avaient envahi la citadelle sacrée, s’étaient emparé des 
fusils de lVarsenal, et tiraient (ces misérables) sur les frangais. On en sabra 
quelques-uns, ct on purgea le Kremlin de leur presence.” 





H 


| 


380 WAR AND PEACE. 


Murat was informed that the way was clear. The French 
poured through the gates, and began to set up their eamp in 
the Senatskaya Square. The soldiers flung chairs out of the } 
windows of the Senate House into the square, and used them | 
as fuel for their fires. : 

Other divisions crossed through the Kreml, and took up 
their stations along the Moroseika, Lubyanka, Pokrovka. Still 
others settled themselves in the Vozdvizhenka, Znamenka, 
Nikolskaya, and Tverskaya. Finding nowhere any houses | 
open to them, the French quartered themselves, not as they } 
usually would in a city, but, as it were, formed a camp inside 
the city limits. 

The French, though ragged, hungry, weary, and reduced to 
one-half of their original numbers, entered Moscow in regular 
military order. It was a jaded, exhausted, but still martial 
and redoubtable army. | 

But such it was only until that moment when the soldiers 
of that army were distributed in their lodgings. As soon as 
the men of the various regiments began to scatter among the 
rich and deserted mansions, then the martial quality disap- 
peared forever, and the men were neither converted into citi- 
zens, nor retained their character as soldiers, but changed into 
something betwixt and between, called marauders. . 

When, five weeks later, these same men marched out of | 
Moscow, they were still no longer troops. They were a throng 
of marauders, each one of whom brought or carried away 
with him a quantity of articles which seemed to him precious 
or necessary. : . 

The object of each of these men, as they left Moscow, was 
not, as formerly, to prove themselves warriors, but to preserve 
what they had obtained. Like the monkey which has thrust 
its paw into the narrow neck of the jug, and grasped a hand- 
ful of nuts, and will not open its fist lest it lose its prize, thus 
destroying itself, —the French, on leaving Moscow, were evi- 
dently doomed to perish, in consequence of lugging their 
plunder with them, since to relinquish what they had taken as 
plunder was as impossible as it was impossible for the mon- 
key to let go of its handful of nuts. | . 

Ten minutes after each regiment of the French host made 
its entry into any given quarter of Moscow, there was not 
left a single soldier or officer. Men in capotes and gaiters 
could be seen in the windows of the houses, boldly exploring 
the rooms. In cellars and storerooms, the same men were 
making free with provisions and stores. In the yards the 





WAR AND PEACE. 881 


jame men were tearing open or breaking down the barn and 
«stable doors. They kindled fires in kitchens, and with sleeves 
~olled up they baked, kneaded, and cooked, they frightened or 
sonfused or wheedled women and children. ‘There were a 
‘aost of these men everywhere in the shops and in the houses; 
mut army there was none. 

On that day, order after order was issued by the French 
sommanders, with the object of preventing the troops from scat- 
jering about through the city — stern rescripts against offering 
siolence to the inhabitants, or marauding, and insisting upon 
u general roll call at evening, but, in spite of such precautions, 
she men, who just before had constituted an army, wandered 
vbout through the rich, deserted city, which still abounded in 
somforts and enjoyments. 

' Asa famished herd of cattle go huddled together over a 
garren field, but instantly become uncontrollable and scatter as 
300n as they come into rich pasture lands, so did this army 
separate and scatter irreclaimably through the opulent city. 

_ There were no citizens in Moscow, and the soldiers were 
vbsorbed in it (like water in sand), and, bursting all restraint, 
sadiated out in every direction from the Kreml, which was 
their first objective point. 

Cavalrymen, coming to some merchant’s mansion abandoned 
with all its treasures, and:finding stabling sufficient for their 
»wn horses and others besides, nevertheless proceeded to take 
gossession of the one adjoining, because it seemed better still. 

In many cases, a man or group of men would take posses- 
sion of several houses, and scratch the name of the claimant 
n chalk on the doors, and quarrel and even come to blows with 
men of other regiments. 

Such soldiers as failed to find accommodations ran along 
she streets inspecting the city, and when word was given out 
shat the whole city was abandoned, they made haste to find 
and take whatever was valuable. 

In the Karetnui Riat, or the carriage mart, there were shops 
full of equipages; even the generals crowded here, selecting 
salashes and coaches. 

Such inhabitants as were left invited the French command- 
ars to lodge in their houses, thereby hoping to escape from 
being plundered. , 

There was an abundance of wealth, and there seemed to be 
‘oo end to it. Everywhere, in a circle from the place first 
2ecupied by the French, there were places, as yet unknown 
and unexplored, where, as it seemed to the French, there must 





38% WAR AND PEACE. 


be still greater riches. And Moscow even more and more 
absorbed them into itself. Just as the consequence of 
pouring water upon dry earth is that the water disappears 
and the dry earth as well, so in exactly the same way the 
consequence of a hungry army pouring into a well-furnished, 
abandoned city was its destruction, and the destruction of the 
opulent city, and filth follows; conflagrations and marauding 


follow. 


The French attributed the burning of Moscow to the say- 
age patriotism of Rostopchin — aw patriotisme féroce de Los- 
topchine, —the Russians, to the savagery of the French. In 
last analysis, responsibility for the burning of Moscow was 
not due and cannot be attributed to any one person or to any 
number of persons. 

Moscow was burned because it was in a condition when 
every city built of wood must burn, independently of the 
question whether they had or had not one hundred and 
thirty wretched fire-engines. Moscow had to burn because its 
inhabitants had deserted it, and as inevitably as a heap of 
shavings, upon which live coals are dropped, must burn. 

A wooden city, which has its conflagrations almost every 
day in spite of the police and the proprietors, careful of their 
houses, could not fail to burn whenthe inhabitants were gone 
and their places taken by soldiers, who smoked their pipes, 
made camp-fires of senators’ chairs in the Senatskaya Square, — 
and cooked their meals there twice a day. : 

Even in: times of peace, when troops are quartered in vil- 
lages, the number of fires is immediately increased. How 
much greater must the probabilities of conflagration be in a 
deserted city built of wood and oceupied by a foreign army ! 

Le patriotisme féroce de Rostopchine and the savagery of the 
French were not to blame for this. The burning of Moscow 
was due to the soldiers’ pipes, to the cook-stoves, the camp- 
fires, to the negligence of hostile troops, when houses were 
occupied by men not their owners. 

Even ifthere were incendiaries (which is very doubtful, since 
there was no reason for setting fires, and such action would 
have been hard and perilous), they could not be considered. as 
the cause of the conflagration, since it would have taken place — 
without them. 

However flattering it was for the French to blame Rostop- 
chin’s savage patriotism, and for the Russians to blame the 
villain Bonaparte, or, in later times, to place the heroic torch — 





WAR AND PEACE. 383 


in the hands of their own people, it is impossible not to see 
‘that such an immediate cause of the conflagration had no real 
existence, because Moscow had to burn, as every town, every 
factory, and every house, would be burned, when abandoned 
by its owners, and strangers had taken possession and were 
cooking their victuals in it. 

Moscow was burned by its citizens, — that is true; not, how- 
ever, by the citizens who remained, but by those who went 
away. | 
_ Moscow, occupied by the enemy, did not remain intact like 
Berlin, Vienna, and other cities, simply because the inhabit- 
ants did not come forth to offer the French the bread and salt 
— Khlyeb-sol— of hospitality, and the keys of the city, but 
left it. | 


CHAPTER XXVII. 


Tur soaking-up of the French into Moscow, spreading out 
‘star-wise, reached the quarter where Pierre was now living, 
only in the evening of September 14. 

_ After the two days which Pierre had spent, solitary, and. in 
‘such an unusual manner, he had got into a state of mind that 
‘bordered on insanity. His whole being was possessed by one 
importunate idea. He himself knew not how or when it came 
about, but this idea had such mastery of him that he remem- 
bered nothing of the past, had no comprehension of the present, 
and what he saw and heard seemed as though it had happened 
“In a dream. 
' Pierre had left his home simply and solely to escape from 
the complicated coil of social demands which held him, and 
from which he could not, in his situation at the time, tear him- 
self away. He had gone to- Iosiph Alekseyevitch’s house 
ostensibly to arrange the late owner’s books and papers, and 
simply because he was in search of some alleviation from the 
demands of life; and his recollections of Iosiph Alekseyevitch 
_were connected in his mind with that world of eternal, tran- 
“quil, and solemn thoughts which were diametrically opposed to 
‘the confused coil in which he felt himself entangled. 
- He sought a quiet refuge, and actually found it, in Tosiph 
' Alekseyevitch’s library. When, in the dead silence of the 
room, he sat down and leaned his elbows on his late friend’s 
_dust-covered writing-table, the recollections of the last few 
days began one by one to rise before him, calmly, and in theirs 
proper significance, especially that of the battle of Borodino, 





384 WAR AND PEACE. 


and that irresistible sense of his own insignificance and false. 
ness in comparison with the truth, simplicity, and forceful. 
ness which had so impressed him in that class of men he 
called They. | 

When Gerasim aroused him from his brown study, the 
thought occurred to Pierre that he was to take a part in the 
supposed popular defence of Moscow. And, with this end in 
view, he had immediately sent Gerasim to procure. for him a 
kaftan and pistol, and explained to him his intention of con- 
cealing his identity and remaining in Josiph Alekseyevitch’s 
house. 

Afterwards, in the course of the first day spent alone and 
idly, — for, though he several times tried, he could not 
put his mind on the Masonic manuscripts, — the thought of 
the cabalistic significance of his name in connection with that 
of Bonaparte’s occurred vaguely to him: but this thought which 
he had before conceived, that UV Russe Besuhof was predestined 
to overthrow the power of the Beast, now came to him only as 
one of the illusions which thronged his imagination, without 
logical connection, and vanished without leaving any trace. - — 

When, after the purchase of the kaftan, — with the purpose 
merely of taking part in the popular defence of Moscow, — 
Pierre met the Rostofs, and Natasha had said to him: “ You 
are going to remain? Akh! How nice!” the thought had 
flashed through his mind that truly it would be nice, even if 
Moscow were captured, for him to remain in Moscow and fulfil 
his predestination. 

On the following day, with the sole idea not to spare him- 
self, and not to keep aloof from anything in which they took 
part, he went to the Tri Gorui barrier. But when he reached 
home again, convinced that no attempt was to be made to 
defend Moscow, the consciousness suddenly came over him 
that what had hitherto seemed merely a possibility had now 
become absolutely imperative and unavoidable. It was his 
duty to remain in Moscow incognito, to fire at Napoleon and 
to kill him : — either he must perish himself, or put an end 
to the misery which afflicted all Europe, and was caused, as 
Pierre reasoned, by Napoleon alone. 

Pierre knew all the particulars of the German student’s 
attempts on Bonaparte’s life in Vienna in 1809, and he was 
aware that the student had been shot. And the danger to 
which he was about to expose his life in carrying out his 
purpose filled him with still stronger zeal. 

Two feelings of equal intensity irresistibly attracted Pierre 


WAR AND PEACE. 885 


to execute his project. The first was the feeling that sacrifice 
and suffering were demanded from him as a penalty for the 
consciousness of the general wretchedness—that feeling 
which, on the seventh, had impelled him to go to Mozhaisk 
and even into the very thick of the conflict, “and now drove 
him from his home to sleep on a hard sofa, and to share 
Gerasim’s meagre fare, instead of enjoying the luxuries to 
which he was accustomed. 

The second was that vague, exclusively Russian scorn for all 
things conventional, artistic, human, for all that is counted 
by the majority of men to be the highest ¢ good in the world. 
_ It was in the Slobodsky palace that Pierre had for the first 
time in his life experienced this strange and bewitching feel- 
ing, when he suddenly arrived at the consciousness that wealth 
and power and life — everything that men arrange and cherish 
with such passionate eagerness, even if it is worth anything — 
are of no consequence compared to the enjoyment which is the 
concomitant of their sacrifice. 

It is this feeling that impels the volunteer to drink up his 
last kopek, the drunkard to smash mirrors and glasses with- 
out any apparent cause, although he knows that it will cost 
him his last coin to pay for them; the feeling which impels 
4 man, committing (in the common acceptation of the word) 
crazy actions, to put forth all his personal force and strength, 
thereby testifying to the existence of a higher justice outside 
of human conditions and ruling life. 

From that very day when Pierre for the first time experienced 
this feeling in the Slobodsky palace, he had been constantly 
under its influence; but now only he found full satisfaction 
for it. Moreover, at the present moment, Pierre was kept up 
to his intention, and deprived of the possibility of renouncing 
it, by what he had already done in that direction. His flight 
from home, and his kaftan, and his pistol, and his announce- 
ment to the Rostofs that he should stay in Moscow, all would 
be meaningless —nay, it would be contemptible and ridicu- 
ious — Pierre knew that by instinct —if, after all, he should 
‘lo what the others had done, and leave Moscow. 

Pierre’s. physical condition, as was always the case, corre- 
sponded with his mental. The coarse, unusual beverages 
which he had been drinking those days, the abstinence from 

‘Wine and cigars, the dirty, unchanged linen, the two almost 
sleepless nights which he had spent on the short, pillow- 
ess sofa, all this had reduced Pierre to a state akin to 

cunacy. 


/ VOL. 3. — 25. 


386 WAR AND PEACE. 


It was already two o’clock in the afternoon, and the French 
had entered Moscow. Pierre knew it, but, instead of acting, 
he thought only of his enterprise, considering all its minutest 
details. In his imagination he did not dwell with such keen- 
ness of vision on the act itself of firing the shot, or upon the 
death of Napoleon, but he imagined with extraordinary vivid- 
ness, and with a melancholy delight, his own ruin and his heroie 
courage. 

“Yes, one for all! I must accomplish it or perish!” he 
said to himself. “Yes, I will go up to him—and then sud- 
denly — with a pistol —or would not a dagger be better ? ” — 
mused Pierre. — “ However, it is immaterial. —‘ Not I, but the 
hand of Providence punishes thee!’ I will exclaim.” Pierre 
was rehearsing the words which he should utter as he killed 
Napoleon. — “‘ Well, then, take me, punish me,’” Pierre went 
on to say, still further imagining the scene, and drooping his 
head with a melancholy but firm expression of countenance. 

While Pierre, standing in the middle of the room, was thus 
musing, the library door was suddenly flung open, and the 
figure of Makar Alekseyevitch appeared on the threshold, 
absolutely changed from his former attitude of wild shyness. 

His khalat was flung open. His face was flushed and dis- 
torted. He was evidently drunk. Seeing Pierre, he was for 
the first moment confused; but, remarking signs of confusion 
in Pierre, he immediately expressed his satisfaction, and came 
into the middle of the room, tottering on his thin legs. 

“They’re scared!” he exclaimed in a hoarse, confidential 
voice. “I tell you: ‘We won’t surrender.’ That’s what J 
say — Right? — Hey, mister?” He deliberated for a mo- 
ment; then, suddenly catching sight of the pistol on the table, 
he grasped it with unexpected quickness and ran into the 
corridor. 

Gerasim and the dvornik, who had followed at Makar Alek- 
seyevitch’s heels, stopped him in the entry and tried to take 
away the pistol. Pierre came out into the corridor, and looked 
with pity and disgust on the half-witted old man. Makan: 
Alekseyevitch, scowling with the effort, clung to the pistol, 
and screamed in his hoarse voice something that he evidently 
considered very solemn. | | 

“To arms! Board’em!* You lie! you sha’n’t have it,” he 





yelled. 
“There, please, that’ll do. Have the goodness to put it up, 
please. Now please, barin,” — said Gerasim, cautiously 


* Na abordage ! 


WAR AND PEACE. 387 


‘taking Makar Alekseyevitch by the elbows and trying to force 
‘him back to the door. 

“Who are you? Bonaparte?” screamed Makar Alekse- 
'yitch. ; 

“That is not right, sir. Please come into your room; you 
are all out of breath. Please let me have the pistol.” 

“ Away with you, you scurvy slave! Touch me not! . Do 
‘you see this!” yelled Makar Alekseyitch, brandishing the pis- 
tol. “Board ’em!” 

“Look out!” whispered Gerasim to the dvornik. They 
seized Makar Alekseyitch by the arms and dragged him to the 
door. 

_ The room was filled with the confused sounds of the scuffle 
and the hoarse, drunken sounds of the panting voice. | 

_ Suddenly a new and penetrating scream of a woman was 
heard from the steps, and the cook ran into the entry. 

“Here they are! Oh, ye saints of my sires!!!—Oh, God! 
here they are! Four of them on horseback ! ” — she cried. 

_ Gerasim and the dvornik let go of Makar Alekseyitch’s 
arms, and in the silence which suddenly ensued the pounding 
of several hands was heard on the outside door. 








CHAPTER XXVIII. 


PiERRE, deciding for himself that, until the time came for 
the fulfilment of his project, it was best not to disclose his 
‘Identity, or his knowledge of French, stood in the half-opened 
‘door leading into the corridor, intending instantly to go and 
hide himself as soon as the French entered. But the French 
came in, and Pierre had not stirred from the door: an indefin- 
able curiosity seized him. 

There were two of them. One was an officer, tall, gallant- 
looking, and handsome; the other evidently a soldier, or his 
servani, short and stubbed, lean and sunburned, with sunken 
eheeks and a stupid expression of face. The officer, resting 
his weight on a cane, and limping a little, came forward. 
‘Having advanced a few steps, the officer, as though deciding 
that the rooms were good, halted, and turned round to some 
soldiers who appeared in the doorway, and in a tone of com- 
mand shouted to them:to bring in their horses. Having 
‘attended to this, the officer, with a gallant gesture, lifting high 
his elbow, twisted his mustache and then touched his cap : — 











388 WAR AND PEACE. 


“ Bonjour la compagnie!” he cried cheerily with a smile | 
and glancing round. | 
No one made any answer. | 
“Vous étes le bourgeois? —Are you the master of the | 
house ?” asked the officer, addressing Gerasim. Gerasim, with 
a scared, questioning look, stared at the officer. | 
“ Quarteer, guarteer — logement !” exclaimed the officer, sur: | 
veying the little man from top to toe, with a condescending | 
and benevolent smile: “The French are jolly boys. Que | 
diable! Voyons! Don’t get touchy, old man!” he added, | 
slapping the startled and silent Gerasim on the shoulder. “A | 
ca! Dites done, on ne parle done francais dans cette bow | 
tigue ?”” he added, glancing around and catching Pierre’s eyes | 
as he slunk aside from the door. 
The officer again addressed himself. to Gerasim.. He tried | 
to make the old man show him the rooms in the house. | 
“Barin gone—No understand !— my — you — your” — | 
stammered Gerasim, striving to make his words more compre- 
hensible by speaking in broken Russian. | 
The French officer, with a smile, waved his hands in front of | 
Gerasim’s nose, giving him to understand that he did not | 
understand him, and he limped again to the door where Pierre | 
was standing. Pierre started to go away in order to hide 
from him, but just at that instant he saw through the open | 
door of the kitchen Makar Alekseyitch peering out, with the 
pistol in his hand. With the cunningness of & madman, | 
Makar Alekseyitch gazed at the Frenchman, and, raising the 
pistol, aimed : — 
“Board ’em!” cried the drunken man and cocked the pistol. | 
The Frenchman, hearing the shout, turned round, and at that | 
instant Pierre flung himself on the drunkard. But, before 
Pierre. had time to seize and throw up the pistol, Makar | 
Alekseyitch got his fingers on the cock and a sharp report 
rang out, deafening them all and filling the passage with gun- | 
powder smoke. The Frenchman turned pale and sprang back 
to the door. | 
Pierre seized the pistol and flung it away and ran after the | 
officer, and (then forgetting his intention of not revealing his | 
knowledge of French) began to speak with him in French. 
“You are not wounded ? ” he asked with solicitude. | 
“T think not,” replied the officer, examining himself. “ But | 
I had a narrow escape that time,” he added, pointing at the 
broken plastering on the wall. ‘“ Who is that man?” he de- 
manded, giving Pierre a stern look. | 








WAR AND PEACE. 399 


| “J am really greatly distressed at what has just happened,” 
aid Pierre, speaking fluently, and entirely forgetting the part 
ie was going to play. ‘“ He is crazy, an unfortunate man who 
lid not know what he was doing.” * 
( The officer turned to Makar Alekseyitch and seized him by 
‘he collar. Makar Alekseyitch, thrusting out his hps, swayed 
is though he were sleepy and stood leaning against the wall. 
, “Brigand! you shall answer for this!” said the Frenchman, 
aking off his hand. “It’s in our nature to be merciful after 
netory, but we do not forgive traitors,” he added with a look 
»£ gloomy solemnity on his face, and with a graceful, ener- 
retic gesture. 
_ Pierre continued in French to urge the officer not to be too 
aard on this half-witted drunkard. The Frenchman lstened 
‘n silence, without a change in his scowling face, then sud- 
‘lenly turned to Pierre with a smile. He looked at him 
or a few seconds without speaking. His handsome face as- 
sumed a tragically sentimental expression, and he held out his 
and : — “ Vous m’avez sauvée la vie! Vous étes frangais !” he 
jaid. Fora Frenchman this inference was beyond question. 
Co do a magnanimous action was alone possible to a French- 
‘nan, and to save the life of Monsieur Ramball, capitaine du 
(ame Leger, was unquestionably the greatest deed of all. 
But, reasonable as this inference was or the conviction 
which the officer based upon it, Pierre felt it incumbent upon 

iim to disclaim it. 
“Je suis russe,” he said rapidly. 

“'Tititi! tell that to others,” said the Frenchman, smiling 
| ind raising a warning finger. “By and by you can tell me 
ml about it. Charmé de rencontrer un compatriote. Hh bien! 
What shall we do with this man ?” he added, already address- 
‘ng Pierre as though he were his brother. 

_ Even if Pierre were not a Frenchman, having once granted 
im that appellation, —the highest in the world, — he could 
| 1ever disavow it, said the French officer’s whole tone, and the 
-xpression of his face. 


— “= 











In reply to the last question, Pierre once more explained 
vho Makar Alekseyitch was, explained that just before their 
wrival this witless drunkard had got hold of the loaded pistol, 
ind they had just been trying to get it away from him; 


_ *“ Vous n’étes pas blessé 2?” — ‘Je crois que non, mars je Vai manqué belle 
cette fors-ci. Quel est cet homme ?”’ —‘‘ Ah, je suis vraiment au désespoir de 
"equi vient darriver. C’est un fou, un malheureux gui ne savait pas ce qwil 


aisait.” 






390 WAR AND PEACE. 










finally, he begged him to let this matter go without punishing 
him. 

The Frenchman swelled out his chest infd made a regal 
gesture W ith his hand: 

“ Vous mavez sauvé la vie. Vous étes francais. Vous de- 
mandex sa grace? Je vous Vaccorde. Qwon emméne cet 
homme /—'Take this man away!” exclaimed the French officer 
rapidly and energetically, and, linking his arm with that of 
Pierre, the man whom for having saved his life he admitted 
into fellowship with the French, he went with him into th 
house. 

The soldiers who had been in the dvor when they heard the 
pistol-shot hastened into the entry, asking what was up, and 
expressing their readiness to punish the offenders; but the 
officer sternly repressed them. | 

‘You shall be called when you are needed,” said he. 

The soldiers flocked out. The man who had meantime 
explored the larder came back to the officer and reported find- 
ing soup and roast mutton, and asked if he should bring it. 

“ Capitaine, ils ont de la soupe et du gigot de mouton dans la 
cuisine,’ said he. “Faut-il vous Vapporter?” 

“Oui, et le vin!” said the. captain. 





CHAPTER XXIX. 


As the French officer and Pierre went in together, Pierre 
felt that it was his duty once more to assure the captain 
that he was not French and he wanted to go, but the French 
officer would not even hear to such a thing. He was soa 
extremely polite, courteous, and good-natured, and so genuinely 
erateful for having had his life preserved, that Pierre had not’ 
the heart to refuse him, and therefore sat down with him i 
the drawing-room, which happened to be the first which they 
entered. | 

At Pierre’s asseveration that he was not a Frenchman, the 

captain, evidently not comprehending how it could enter the 
heart of man to ~efuse such a flattering designation, shrugged 
his shoulders, and declared that if he were resolutely bent on) 
passing for a Russian, he might do so, but still, nevertheless, 
he was eternally bound to him by the feeling of gratitude for 
saving his life. : 

If this man had been gifted with the slightest capacity for 
entering into the feelings of others, and had guessed Pierre’s 


/ 


| _ WAR AND PEACE. — 891 
entiments, Pierre would undoubtedly have left him, but this 
‘aan’s impermeability to everything except his own personality 
_uite won Pierre. 

“ Francais ou prince russe incognito,” said the Frenchman, 

-erutinizing Pierre’s fine but soiled linen, and the ring on his 
unger, “I owe you my life, and I offer you my friendship. <A 
Jrenchman never forgets an insult ora favor. That is all I 
ave to say.” 
- In the tones of this officer’s voice, in the expression of his 
ace, in his gestures, there was so much affability and good- 
reeding (in the French.use of the terms), that Pierre, giving 
ack unconsciously smile for smile, pressed the proffered 
sand. “ Captaine Ramball du 13 leger, decoré pour Vaffaire 
ju 19%,” he went on to say, introducing himself with a smile 
'f exuberant self-satisfaction curling his lips under his mus- 
aches. “Would you not tell me, now, with whom I have 
he honor of conversing so agreeably, instead of being in the 
mbulance with that idiot’s pistol ball in me ? ” * 

'Pierre replied that he could not tell him his name, and 
eddened as he tried to think of some name, to invent some 
eason for not giving his own; but the Frenchman made haste 
0 relieve him. 

“JI beg of you!” said he. “TI appreciate your scruples: you 
re an officer —an officer of rank, perhaps. You have borne 
mms against us—it is not my affair. I owe my life to 
‘ou. That is enough for me. I am wholly at your service. 

fou are a gentleman ? ” he added, with just a shade of 
‘uestion. 

Pierre nodded assent. 

“Your given name, please; I ask nothing more. Monsieur 
ierre, you say —excellent!— That is all that I wish to 
now.” T 

When the mutton and omelet, the samovar, vodka, and 
ne which the French had obtained from a Russian cellar 
rere brought, Ramball invited Pierre to share in this repast, 
ynd instantly he himself fell to, ravenously and hastily attack- 
jag the viands like a healthy hungry man, chewing lustily 








* * Voudrez-vous bien me dire a présent, a qui j’ai Vhonneur de parler aussi 
‘gréablement au liew derester a l’ambulence avec la balle de ce fou dans le 


Ss: 99) 

Mp ‘Degrace. Je comprends r0s raisons ; vous étes officier — officier supér- 
vur, peut-étre. Vous avez porté les armes contre nous. Ce nest pas mon 
faire. Je vous dois la vie. Cela me suffit. Je suis tout a vous. Vous €étes 
entilhomme? Votre nom de baptéme, s’il vous plait. Je ne demande pas 
‘mantage. Monsieur Pierre, dites-vous — parfait ! — C’est tout ce que je 
)ésire savoir.” 





392 WAR AND PEACE. 

















with his sound, strong teeth, constantly smacking his lips, and 
exclaiming, “ Excellent, Cxeguis le 

His face grew flushed and sweaty. Pierre was hungry, and 
participated with great satisfaction in this dinner. 

Morel, the ser vant, brought a sauce-pan full of warm water, 
and set in it a bottle of red wine. He also brought a bottle 
of kvas which he had found in the kitchen, and wanted to 
experiment. with. 

This beverage was already known to the French and had 
received a name. ‘They called kvas limonade de cochon, — 
pig’s lemonade, —and Morel had taken possession of this 
limonade de cochon which he had found in the kitchen. 

But as the capitaine possessed wine that had been plun- 
dered somewhere as he passed through the city, he left the 
kvas to Morel, and devoted himself to a bottle of Bordeaux. 
He wrapped the bottle up to the neck in a napkin, and poured 
the wine out for himself and Pierre. Hunger alleviated and 
the wine enlivened the captain more and more, and during 
all the dinner-time he chattered without cessation. 

“Yes, my dear Mr. Pierre, | owe you a handsome taper for 
having saved me from that—that madman. ... You see I 
have balls enough in my body as it is. There’s one” — he 
touched his side—‘“received at Wagram, and two at Smo- 
lensk ” — he indicated the scar on his cheek. “And this leg, 
you see, can’t walk. I received that on the seventh, in the 
great battle of the Moskva.. Ye gods! that was fine! You 
ought to have seen it! It was a deluge of fire. You blocked 
out a tough job forus! I shouldn’t blame you for boasting 
about it! by the Devil, I shouldn’t! And on my word, in 
spite of the cold which I took, I should be willing to begin it 
all over again. I pity those who didn’t see it!” 

“Twas there!” said Pierre. 

“ What! really ? Well, then, so much the better,” said the 
Frenchman. “You are glorious enemies, all the same. The 
great redoubt held her own, by all the powers. And you 
made us pay dear for it. I got in it three times, just as sure 
as you see me. Three times we were right on the guns, and 
three times we were knocked over lke pasteboard soldiers ! 
Oh, it was fine, Mr. Pierre! Your grenadiers were superb, 
by heavens! Six times running I saw them close up ranks 
and march out as though they were going toa review! Fine 
fellows! Our king of Naples, who is a perfect dab at such 
things, cried, ‘Bravo!’ Ah! ha! good soldiers — quite our 
match!” said he with a smile, after a moment’s silence 





——— 


WAR AND PEACE. 393 


) So much the better, so much the better, Mr. Pierre! Terri- 
‘le in battle . . . gallant with the fair ones!” — he winked 
md smiled — “that’s the Frenchman, Mr. Pierre, ain’t that 
9?” * 

The captain was so naively and good-naturedly jovial, frank, 
‘nd self-satisfied that Pierre himself almost winked as he 
ooked at him. 

_ Apparently the word “ gallant ” reminded the captain of the 
ate of Moscow. 

“By the way, tell me now, is it true all the ladies have left 
iloscow ? A strange notion! What had they to be afraid of ?” 

“Wouldn’t the French ladies leave Paris if the Russians 
arched in ?” retorted Pierre. 
| “Ha! ba! ha!” The Frenchman burst into a gay, hearty 
‘gh, and slapped Pierre on the shoulder. “Ah! that isa good 
ne,” he went on toremark. “ Paris? — Mais Paris, Paris” — 








: “Paris la capitale du monde!” said Pierre, finishing his 
outence. 

The captain looked at Pierre. It was a habit of his in the 
liBlale of a sentence to hesitate and give one asteady look from 
is laughing, friendly eyes. 
| “There, now, if you had not said that you were Russian, I 

ould have wagered you were Parisian. You have something 

yout you” —and, having said this compliment, he again 
aused and looked. 


“T have been at Paris. I spent some years there,” said 
lerre. 

» “Ah! that is very evident. Paris! A man who doesn’t 
now Paris is a barbarian. You can tell a Parisian by the 
‘nell two leagues off! Ca se sent a deux liewx. Paris is Talma, 


* Oui, mon cher M. Pierre, je vous dois wne fire chandelle de m’avoir 
-uvé —de cet enragé. — Jen ai assez, voyez-vous, de balles dans le corps. 
‘voila unea Wagrim et deux a Smolensk. -- Et cetie jambe, comme vous 
yez, qui ne veut pas marcher. C'est a la yrande bataille du 7 a la Moscowa 
le fai recu ga. Sacré Dieu, cetait beau! Il fallait voir ca; eétait un 
luge de feu. Vous nous avez taillé une rude besoyne ; VOUS pouvez vous en 
mer, nom Mun petit bonhomme! Et, ma parole, malgré la toux, que 
iu gagné, je serais prét a recommences. Je plains ceux qui nont pas vu ¢a.— 
y w été. —Bah, vraiment! eh bien, tant mieux. Vous étes de fiers ennemis, 
ut de méme. La grande redoute a été ténace, nom dun pipe! Et vous 
us @ fait crdnement payer. J’y suis allé trois fois, tel que vous me voyez. 
ois fois nous étions sur les canons et trois fois on nous a culbutié et comme 
$ capucins de cartes. Oh! c’était superbe, M. Pierre! Vos grenadiers ont 
@ superbes, tonnerre de Dieu! Je les aivu six fois de suite serrer les rangs 
'marcher comme aune revue. Les beaux hommes! Notre roi de Naples, 
(W 8y connait, a crié: ‘Bravo!’ Ah! ah! soldats comme nous autres! 
Int mieux, tant mieux, M. Pierre! Terribles en batailles—galants avec 
(3 belles, voila les Franguis, M, Pierre, n'est ce pas ?” | 












394 WAR AND PEACE. 


la Duchesnois, Potier, la Sorbonne, les boulevards!” and, per 
ceiving that his conclusion was somewhat inconsequential, he 
made haste to add: “There is only one Paris in the world, 
You have been in Paris, and you remain Russian! Well, I de 
not esteem you the less for it.” 

Under the influence of the wine which he had drunk, and 
after the days spent in solitude with his sombre thoughts 
Pierre could not help experiencing a certain satisfaction w 
talking with this jolly and good-tempered gentieman. 

“To return to your ladies: they are said to be pretty. What 
a crazy notion to go and bury themselves in the steppes, wher 
the French army is at Moscow! What a chance they have 
missed! Your muzhiks! that’s another thing! but you are 
civilized beings, and ought to know us better than that. We 
have captured Vienna, Berlin, Madrid, Naples, Rome, War 
saw —all the capitals of the world. We are feared, but we 
are loved. ‘here’s no harm in knowing men like us. An¢ 
then the emperor” — he began, but Pierre interrupted him, 

“ Vempereur,’ repeated Pierre, and his face suddenly as 
sumed a gloomy expression of confusion —“ Hst ce que Vem 
pereur ? ”? — : 

“The emperor! He is generosity, clemency, justice, order 
and genius itself! That’s what the emperoris! I, Ramball 
tell you so. I, the very person before you, was his enemj 
eight years ago! My father was a count and an emigre 
But this man was too much for me. He conquered me. ~ 
could not resist the spectacle of the glory and grandeur witl 
which he was loading France. When I understood what h 
wanted, when I saw that he was making a perfect bed of 'au 
rels for us, do you know, I said to myself: ‘There’s a soy 
ereign for you,’ and I gave myself to him. And that’s tly 
whole story. Oh, yes, my dear sir, he is the greatest man 0 
the ages past or to come.” , 

“Is he at Moscow ?” asked Pierre, stammering, and witl 
a guilty countenance. 

The Frenchman looked at Pierre’s guilty face, and smiled 
“No: he will make his entrance to-morrow,’ * said he, as 
went on with his stories. , 








* “ Pour en revenir a vos dames, on les dit bien belles. Quelle fichue we: 
daller s’enterrer dans les steppes, quand UVarmée francaise est a Moscow 
Quelle chance elles ont manqué, celles-la! Vos moujiks, c'est autre chose 
mais vous autres gens civilisés, vous devriez nous connaitre mieux que ¢ 
Nous avons pris Vienne, Berlin, Madrid, Naples, Rome, Varsovie —tou 
les capitales du monde.—- On nous craint, mais on nous dime. Nous somnie 
‘bons a connaitre, -- Et puis Vempercur.— L’empereur! Crest la generosite 









WAR AND PEACE. 395 


Their conversation was interrupted: by a noise of many 
‘oices at the gate, and by Morel coming in to explain to the 
yptain that some Wiirttemberg hussars had made their 
ppearance and wanted to stable their horses in the same 
vor, which was pre-occupied by the captain’s horses. 

. The difficulty arose principally from the fact that the hus- 
ars did not understand what was said to them. 

_The captain commanded the old non-commissioned officer 
) be brought into his presence, and, in a stern voice, he began 
) question him: To what regiment did he belong ? Who 
as his chief ? and, By what authority he permitted himself 
) take possession of quarters that were pre-empted ? 

In reply to the first two questions the German, whose 
jnowledge of French was but slender, named his regiment 


r 


ad his superior, but in reply to the last, which he didn’t 







| 

MBerstand he began to explain in German interlarded with a 
»w words of broken French, that he was the billeter of his 
¢giment, and that he had been ordered by his colonel to take 
ossession of all the houses in the row. 

Pierre, who knew German, interpreted for the captain what 
ie Wiirttemberger said, and he repeated the captain’s answer 
1 German to the hussar. When at last he understood what 
as meant, the German yielded, and withdrew his men. The 
tiptain went to the steps and gave some orders in a loud 
v1Ge. 

When he returned to the rooin, Pierre was still sitting in 
te same place as before, with his hands clasped on top of 
is head. His face expressed suffering. He was actually 
fering at that moment. When the captain went out and 
ierre was left alone, he suddenly came to his senses, and 
alized the position in which he found himself. Cruelly as 
» felt the fact that Moscow was captured and that these for- 
mate victors were making themselves at home in the city, 
id patronizing him, still it was not this which chiefly tor- 
ented Pierre at the moment. He was tortured by the 
msciousness of his own weakness. The few glasses of wine 
at he had drunk, the conversation with this good-natured 









elémence, la justice, Vordre, le génie: voila lempereur! Cest moi, Rum- 
‘Ul, qui vous le dit. Tel que vous me voyez, j’étais son ennemi, il y a encore 
-itans. Mon peére a été comte emigré. -- Mais il m’a vaincu, cet homme. 
maempoiyné. Je n'ai pas pu resister au spectacle de grandeur et de gloire 
nt il couvrait la France. Quand j’ai compris ce qwil voulait, quand Pai 
/qwil nous faisait une litiére de lauriers, voyez-vous, je me suis dit: Voila 
“souverain. Et je me suis donné a lui. Oh, owi, mon cher, c’est le plus 
ind homme des siécles passées et a venir.” — “Est-il a Moscou ?” -- ** Non, 
)fera son entre demain.” 


/ . 


396 WAR AND PEACE. 


man, had destroyed that darkly determined mood in which 
Pierre had been living for a day or two, and which was indis- 
pensable for the fulfilment of his purpose. 

Pistol and dagger and kaftan were ready. Napoleon would 
make his entrée on the morrow. Pierre felt that it was right 
and profitable to kill the “ evil-doer,” but he felt that now he 
should not accomplish his purpose. 

Why ? 

He knew not, but he had the presentiment that he should 
not carry out his intention. He struggled against this con- 
sciousness of his weakness, but vaguely felt that he should 
not get the mastery of it, that his former dark thoughts about 
vengeance, assassination, and self-sacrifice had scattered like 
dust at the first contact with his fellow-men. 

The captain, slightly limping and whistling some tune, 
came back into the room. 

The Frenchman’s chatter, which had before amused Pierre, 
now annoyed him. And the tune that he was whistling, and 
his gait, and his habit of twirling his mustache, —all now 
seemed offensive to Pierre. 7 ; 

“I will go instantly, I will have nothing more to say to 
him,” thought Pierre. He thought this, but still he kept his 
seat in the same place. A strange feeling of weakness rooted 
him to his place: he felt the desire, but he was unable to get 
up and go. 

The captain, on the contrary, seemed very merry. He 
paced two or three times up and down the room. His eyes 
flashed, and his mustaches slightly worked, as though he 
were smiling all by himself at some merry conceit of his 
“ Charmant!” he suddenly exclaimed, “le colonel de ce 
Wurtembourgeois! cest un allemand: mais brave gargon, su 
en fut. Mais allemand !” F | 

He sat down opposite Pierre. “ Apropos, vous savez don 
Vallemand, vous?” 

Pierre looked at him and made no reply. 

“ Comment dites-vous asile en allemand ? ” 

“ Asile,’ repeated Pierre, “asile en allemand ? — Unter 
kunft !” 

“Comment dites-vous?” again asked the captain quickly 
with a shade of distrust in his voice. | 

“ Unterkunft !”’ repeated Pierre. 

“ Onterkoff,” said the captain, and looked at Pierre for sev 
eral seconds with mischievous eyes. “ Les allemands sont 
fieres bétes, n'est ce pas, M. Pierre?” he added by way of cor 













WAR AND PEACE. 397 


alusion. “ Hh bien, encore une bouteille de ce Bordeau Mosco- 
‘pite, west ce pas? Morel! va nous chauffer encore une petite 
houterlle, Morel !” gayly cried the captain. 

Morel brought candles and another bottle of wine. The 
‘3aptain looked at Pierre by the light of the candles, and was 
evidently struck by his new friend’s distracted face. With 
zenuine concern and sympathy expressed in his eyes, he 
‘went over to Pierre and bent down over him. 

“Hh bien, nous sommes tristes,” said he, touching Pierre’s 
arm. ‘ Have I hurt your feelings? No, truly, haven’t you 
something against me?” he insisted. “ Perhaps your melan- 
sholy is due to the state of things.” 

' Pierre made no answer, but looked affectionately into the 
Prenchman’s eyes. This expression of sympathy was grate- 
ful to him. 

- “On my word of honor, without reference to my gratitude 
50 you, I feel a genuine friendship for you. Can I do any- 
shing for you? Iam entirely at your service. It is for life 
or for death! I tell you this with my hand on my heart!” 
said he, slapping himself on the chest. 
| “No, thank you,” said Pierre. 

The captain kept his eyes on him, just as he looked at him 
when he was learning what the German for “refuge” was, and 
ais face suddenly beamed. 
| “Ah! in that case, I drink to our friendship,” He gayly 
sried, pouring out two glasses of wine. : 

Pierre took his, and drained it. Ramball drank his, again 
oressed Pierre’s hand, and then leaned his elbows on the table 
‘n thoughtful, melancholy pose: “Yes, my dear friend, see 
he caprices of fortune!” he began. “Who would ever have 
said that 1 was going to be a soldier and captain of dragoons 
n the service of Bonaparte, as we called him a little while 
io! And yet, here Iam in Moscow with him. I must tell 
rou, my dear fellow,” he continued, in the solemn and meas- 
ied voice of a man who is getting ready to spin a long yarn: 
‘I must tell you our name is one of the most ancient in 
france ”” — , 

And, with the easy-going and simple frankness of a French- 
nan, the captain told Pierre the story of his ancestors, his 
hildhood, youth and manhood, giving all the particulars 
‘£ his ancestry, his estates, and his relationships. “ Ma 
auvre mére,” of course, played an important réle in this 
‘tory. 

“But all that is only the stage setting of life; the real’ 





89R WAR AND PEACE. 


thing is love. Love! isn’t that so, Mr. Pierre ?” said he, eTow. 
ing more animated. ‘“ Have another glass.” * 

Pierre drank it up, and poured out for himself still a third 
glass. 


“Oh, les femmes, les femmes!” and the captain, with oily 


eyes, gazing at Pierre, began to talk about love and about his 
gallant adventures. He had enjoyed a very great number of 
them, as it was easy to believe from a glance in the officer’s 
handsome, self-satisfied face, and the enthusiastic eagerness 
with whieh he talked about women. 

Although all of Ramball’s adventures had that characteristi¢ 
of vileness in which the French find the exclusive charm and 
poetry of love, still the captain told his stories with such hon- 
est conviction that he was the only one who had ever experi- 
enced and understood all the delights of love, and he gave such 
alluring descriptions of women, that Pierre listened to him 
with curiosity. 

It was evident that ?amour which the Frenchman so lovell 


was not that low and simple scnsual passion which Pierre had | 


once experienced for his wife, nor yet that romantic flame 
which was kindled in his heart by Natasha —both of which 
kinds of love Ramball held in equal contempt—one being, 
according to him, —Vamour des charretiers, carters’ love, the 
other, Vamour des nigauds — booby’s love ; Vamour which the 
Frenchman worshipped consisted pre-eminently in unnatural 
relations toward women, and in combinations of incongruities 
which gave the chief charm to the passion. 

Thus the captain related a touching story of his love for a 
bewitching marquise of thirty-five, and, at the same time, for 
a charming innocent maiden of seventeen, the daughter of the 
bewitching marquise. The struggle of magnanimity between 
mother and daughter, ending with the mother sacrificing her- 
self and proposing that the daughter should become her 
lover’s wife, even now, though it was a recollection brought 
up from a long buried ‘past, moved the captain. 


* Vous ai-je fait de la peine ? Non, vrai, avez-vous quelque chose contre 
moi? Peut-étre rapport uw la situation ? Parole @ honneur, sans parler de ce 
que je vous dois, j’ai de l ‘amitié pour vous. Puisje faire quelque chose pour 
vous ? Disposez de moi! Crest a la vieeta la mort.  Cest la main sur le 
ceur que je vous le dis.’ — “ Merci!” — ‘Ah! dans ces eas je bois a notre 
amitié. Oui, mon cher ami, voila les caprices de la fortune ! Qui m’aurait 
dit que je serai soldat et capitaine de dragons au service de Bonaparte comme 


nous Vappellions jadis. Et cependant me voila a Moscou avec li. Il faut vous | 


dire, mon cher, que notre nom est Pun des plus anciens de la France. — Mais 
tout ¢a@ ce n rest que la mise-en-scene de la vie; le fond cest Vamour 
L'amour! WN’est ce pas, M. Pierre ? -- Encore un verre /” 


| 








WAR AND PEACE. 399 


, Then he related an episode in which the husband played the 
_lover’s part, while he —the lover — played the part of husband, 
‘and then several comical episodes from his sowvenirs d’ Alle- 
magne, where “asile” was Unterkunjt, where les maris man- 
gent de la choux croute — where husbands eat sauerkraut, and 
where Jes jeunes filles sont trop blondes ! 

4 Finally, his latest episode in Poland, which was still fresh 
in the captain’s recollections, for he told it with eager ges- 
‘tures and a flushed face, consisted in his having saved a 
Polyak’s life (as a general thing, in the captain’s narrations, 
‘the episode of life-saving was an ’ importane feature), and this 
‘Polyak had intrusted to him. his most fascinating, bewitching 
wite — “ Parisienne de ceur’’ —while he himself entered the 
‘French service. The captain was fortunate, the bewitching 
Pole wanted to run away with hin, but, moved by generosity, 
he had restored the wifc to the husband, saying : &Je vous at 
sauvé la vie et ge sauve votre honneur !” Tn pronouncing these 
words, the captain rubbed his eyes, and gave himself a little 
|shake, as though to drive away his weakness at such a touch- 
ing recollection. 

| While listening to the captain’s yarns, Pierre, as was apt to 
‘be the ease, late in the evening, and under the influence of the 
wine, took in all that the captain had to say, comprehended 
Pit all, and, at the same time, connected it with a whole series 
of personal recollections, which somehow suddenly began to 
(rise up in his mind. As he listened to these stories of love, 
his own love for Natasha occurred to him, with unexpected 
‘suddenness, and as he unrolled, in his imagination, the 
pictures of this love, he mentally compared them with 
Ramball’s. 

Thus, when he followed that story of the struggle between 
love and duty, he saw, with wonderful vividness, in all its 
details, his last meeting with the object of his love, near the 
‘Sukharef tower. 

At that time the meeting had not made any special impres- 
sion upon him; he had not once since thought of it. But 
now it seemed to him that this casual meeting had something 
very significant and poetic. 

“Piotr Kiriluitch! Come here! I recognized you!” 

He now heard her saying those words; he had before him 
a vision of her eyes, her smile, her travelling-hood, a lock of 
hair escaping from it, —and ‘something very touching and 
‘tender connected itself with the whole scene. 


Having finished his tale about the bewitching Polka, the 











400 WAR AND PEACE. 


captain asked Pierre if he had ever experienced anything like | 
self-sacrifice for love, or jealousy of a woman’s husband. | 
Aroused by this question, Pierre raised his head, and felt) 
it incumbent upon him to pour out the thoughts that filled his| 
mind. He began to explain in what a different manner he} 
understood love for a woman. He declared that in all his| 
life he had loved and should love only one woman, and that) 
this woman could never be his. 
“ Tiens/” exclaimed the captain. | 
Pierre explained that he loved this woman‘when he was} 
very young; but he did not then dare to aspire to her, because} 
she was too young, while he was an illegitimate son without; 
name. Afterward when he had received a name and fortune,| 
he could not think of her, because he loved her too much,| 
regarded her too far above all the world, and accordingly too} 
far above himself. | 
When he reached this part of his confession, Pierre turned 
to the captain, and asked him if he understood him. | 
The captain made a gesture, as much as to say that if he} 
did not understand him, still he would beg him to proceed : —| 
“Lamour platonique, nuages,”’ he muttered. | 
Either from the wine which he had drunk, or from the need} 
that he felt of pouring out all his heart, or from the thought | 
that this man would never know any of the personages of | 
his story, or from everything combined, Pierre’s tongue be-} 
came unloosened. And with thick utterance, and bleary eyes, 
looking into space,.he related his whole story: 
marriage and the history of Natasha’s love for his best friend, | 
and the change that had taken place in her, and all his} 
simple relations to her. And, under a little pressure from) 
Ramball, he disclosed what at first he had concealed : his | 
position in society, and even told him his name. 
What amazed the captain more than anything else was the | 
fact that Pierre was very rich, that he had two palaces in} 
Moscow, and that he had given up everything, and, instead of) 
fleeing from Moscow, had ‘yemained in the city, concealing his | 
name and rank. | 
It was already very late that night when they went out| 
into the street. It was mild and “bright. At the left of] 
the house already gleamed the ruddy glare of the first fire,| 
that on the Petrovka, which was the beginning of the con-| 
flagration of Moscow. fF 
At the right, high up in the sky, stood the young, slendet| 
sickle of the moon, and over against the moon could be seen) 












- | 


ji WAR AND PEACE. 401 


: hat brilliant comet which was connected in Pierre’s mind with 
‘us love. 

_ At the gates stood Gerasim, the cook, and two Frenchmen, 
/aughing and talking, in two mutually incomprehensible lan- 
| mages. 

| They gazed at the ruddy glow which could be seen across 
he city. 

_ There was nothing terrible in a small fire at a distance in 
| he enormous city. 

| As he gazed at the high, starry heavens, at the moon, at the 
jomet, and at the glare of the conflagration, Pierre expe- 
jienced an agreeable emotion. 

| “Now, this is beautiful! What more could one need?” 
|e asked himself. And suddenly when he remembered his 
lesolve, his head grew giddy, he felt so badly that he had to 
\ling to the fence not to fall. Without saying good-night to 
4s new friend, Pierre, with tottering steps, left the gates, and, 
eturning to his room, threw himself down on his sofa, and 
jastantly fell asleep. 


—$ 










CHAPTER XXX. 





Tue glare of the first fire that broke out, on the fourteenth 
f September, was witnessed from various roads and with 
various feelings by the escaping and departing citizens and 
| he retreating troops. 

| The Rostofs were spending that night at Muitishchi, about 
|wenty versts from Moscow. They had started so late on the 
hirteenth, the road was so encumbered with trains and troops, 
{o many things had been forgotten, for which men had to be 
ent back, that they had determined to spend the night at a 
\ lace five versts from Moscow. 

On the next morning they awoke late, and again there 
jvere so many delays that they got no farther than Bolshiya 
\Muitishchi. At ten o’clock the Rostof family and the wounded 
f1en whom they had brought with them were all quartered 
jmong the dvors and cottages of the great village. The 
ervants, the Rostofs’ drivers, and the denshchiks of the 
rounded men, having arranged for their comfort, had eaten 
their suppers, fed their horses, and were come out on the 
|teps. In a neighboring cottage lay a wounded adjutant to 
\tayevsky, with a smashed wrist; and the terrible anguish 
{rhich he felt made him groan piteously all the time, and 


VOL. 3. — 26. 















402 WAR AND PEACE. 


these groans sounded terribly in the darkness of the autumn | 
night. The first night this adjutant had been quartered at 
the same dvor with the Rostofs. The countess declared that| 
she could not close her eyes on account of his groaning, and | 
at Muitishchi she had taken a worse room so as to be farther | 
away from this wounded man. 

The night was dark, and one of the servants had noticed, just 
behind the high body of a carriage standing near the gate, a} 
small glare of a second conflagation. One had already been | 
noticed some time before, and all knew that that had been the | 
village of Maluiya Muitishchi, set on fire by Mamonof’s Cossacks. 

“Look at that, boys! another fire!” said the denshchik. | 
The attention of all was attracted to the glare. 

“Oh, yes, they say Maluiya Muitishchi has been set on fire | 
by Mamonof’s Cossacks.” | 

“They ? No! that’s not Muitishchi; it’s farther off. See | 
there! That must be Moscow !” | 

Two of the men came down from the porch, went behind | 
the carriage, and climbed on the rack. | 

“Tt’s too far to the left for Muitishchi —’way round on the | 
other side.” | 

Several men came and joined the others. 

“See how it flares up!” said one. “Yes, gentlemen, that 
fire’s in Moscow —either in the Sushchevskaya or in the 
Rogozhskaya.” 

No reply was made to this conjecture. And for some time | 
all these men looked in silence at the distant flames of this 
new conflagration, which seemed to be spreading. | 

An old man, the count’s valet (Kammerdiener, as they 
called him), Danilo Terentyitch, came out to the crowd and 
shouted to Mishka, — | 

“What are you staring at, you blockhead ? — The count is | 
calling and no one there; go put his clothes away.” 

‘“‘T only came out after some water,” said Mishka. | 

“Now, what do you think, Danilo Terentyitch —is your | 
idea that fire’s in Moscow ?” asked one of the lackeys. | 

Danilo Terentyitch made no reply, and again they all stood | 
for a long time silent. 

The glare spread and wavered over a wider and wider’ 
stretch of the horizon. | 

“God have mercy! The wind and the drought!” said a 
voice at last. | 

“Just look! how far it has gone! Oh, Lord! I think J 
can see the jackdaws! Lord, have mercy on’us sinners!” 







| 


WAR AND PEACE. , 403 


| »“ They’ll put it out, never fear!” 

’ «Who’s to put it out?” Danilo Terentyitch’s: voice, was 
‘heard asking. He had not spoken till then. His tone was 
‘ealm and deliberate. ‘Yes, that is Moscow, boys,” said he. 
‘“Our white-walled matush”’ — His voice broke, and he sobbed 
‘like an old man. 

| And it was as though all were waiting for this, before they 
could realize the meaning which this glare that they saw had 
for them. Sighs were heard, ejaculations from prayers, and — 
the old kammerdienev’s sobs. 












CHAPTER XXXL. 


Tue kammerdiener returned to the house, and informed the 
| count that Moscow was burning. 

The count put on his dressing-gown and went out to look. 
With him went Sonya and Madame Schoss, who had not yet 
‘undressed. Natasha and the countess were alone in their 
‘room. Petya was now parted from his family; he had gone 
jon ahead with his regiment, which was rendezvousing at 
‘Troitsa. 

The countess wept when she heard that Moscow was on 
‘fire. Natasha, pale, with fixed eyes, was sitting on a bench 
under the holy pictures —in the same place where she had 
‘taken her seat when they first came in—and paid not the 
| slightest attention to her father’s report. She hstened to the 
jadjutant’s incessant groaning, which could be heard three 
houses off. 

“ Akh! how horrible!” exclaimed Sonya, coming in from 
‘out of doors, chilled and scared. “I think all Moscow is on 
fare it’s a terrible blaze! Natasha, come here and look. You 

can see it now from this window!” she exclaimed, evidently 
_ wishing to rouse her cousin from her thoughts. 

But Natasha looked at her as though not comprehending 
what she wanted, and again she turned her eyes toward the 
stove. 

Natasha had been in that state of petrifaction since early 
that morning, from the moment when Sonya, to the amazement 
and annoyance of the countess, without any reason for doing 
so, had taken it upon her to tell Natasha about Prince Andrei 
being wounded, and that he was with them in their train. 
| The countess was more angry with Sonya than she had ever 
been before. Sonya had wept and begged for forgiveness, and 









404 WAR AND PEACE. - 


now, as though striving to atone for her error, she was assicl| 
uous in waiting on her cousin. | 

“Look, Natasha! what a terrible fire it is!” said Sonya. 

“What fire?” asked Natasha. “Oh, you mean Moscow ? 7} 

And, as though she wanted not to offend Sonya by refusing,| 
and to have it done with, she turned her head to the window,| 
and glanced out in such a way that she evidently could see| 
nothing, and immediately resumed her former position. 

“ But you didn’t see, did you ? ” 

“Yes, truly, I did!” exclaimed Natasha, in a tone that} 
implied her desire to be left in peace. 

Both the countess and Sonya understood that for Natasha,| 
Moscow or the burning of Moscow, or anything else, in fact,| 
had no significance. ) 

The count had again withdrawn behind the partition, and| 
gone to bed. The countess went up to Natasha, smoothed her} 
head with the back of her hand, as she used to do when her} 
daughter was not well, then she touched her forehead with) 
her lips, as though to see whether she were feverish, and} 
kissed her. 7 I. 

“Are you chilly? You are all of a tremble! You had| 
better go to bed!” said she. | 

“Go to bed? Oh, yes, very good! I wili go to bed. I will! 
in a moment,” said Natasha. 

Since Natasha had been told that morning that Prince 
Andrei was severely wounded and was travelling with them, 
she had only at first asked, “‘ Where, how, is he dangerously | 
wounded ?” and could she see him? But when she was told) 
that it was impossible for her to see him, that he was severely. 
wounded, but that his hfe was not in danger, she, evidently 
putting no faith in what they told her, and convinced that no. 
matter what questions she asked she would receive the same} 
answer, had ceased to ask questions or even to speak. All the} 
way, Natasha had sat motionless in her corner of the ecar-| 
riage, with wide, staring eyes, with that expression which the | 
countess knew so well, and dreaded so; and now she sat in| 
the same way on the bench. She was concocting some scheme, | 
she was coming to some decision, or else had already made wu) | 
her mind even now, — this the countess knew, but what it was| 
she knew not, and this alarmed and tormented her. | 

“ Natasha, undress! Come, darling, get into bed with| 
me.” (The countess was the only one who had a regular bed:) 
Madame Schoss and the two young ladies slept on the floor, } 
on straw.) | 


| 
















WAR AND PEACE. © 405 


_ “No, mamma, I will lie here on the floor!” said Natasha tes- 
ily, and, going to the window, she threw it open. The adju- 
| sant’s groaning was heard more distinctly through the open win- 
‘low. ‘She thrust her head out into the damp night air and the 
};0untess saw how her slender neck was sw ollen with her re- 
) oressed sobs and throbbed against the window frame. Natasha 
kwas aware that it was not “Prince Andrei who was groaning. 
/5he knew that Prince Andrei was in the same row of cottages 
where they were, in the next izb4 beyond the wall; but this 
\jerrible, incessant groaning made her sob. The countess 
axchanged glances with Sonya. 

“Go ‘to bed, darling, go to bed, sweetheart!” said the coun- 


less, giving Natasha a gentle touch on the shoulder. “Go to 
9) 







“Oh, yes, —yes, I will go to bed at once —at once,” said 
| Natasha’ hastily beginning to undress and breaking the strings 
of her petticoats. “After taking off her dress and putting on 
aer dressing-jacket, she curled up her feet and sat down on 
she bed that had been prepared on the floor, and, pulling her 
short, thin braid down over her shoulder, she began to braid it 
over again. 

Her long, slender fingers swiftly, deftly unbraided: it, then 
raided it up again and tied it with a ribbon. Natasha’s head 
jurned as usual first to the window and then in the other 
lirection, but her eyes, feverishly opened, gazed fixedly 
(straight ahead. 
| When her preparation for the night was accomplished, she 
)yuietly dropped down on the sheet spread over the hay, on 
ihe side next the door. 

“Natasha, you take the middle!” said Sonya. 

“No, Ill stay here,” replied Natasha. ‘Do lie down,” she 
jidded in a tone of annoyance. And she buried her face in 
she pillow. 
|| The-countess, Madame Schoss, and Sonya, hastily undressed 
/id went to bed. The night lamp was alone left burning in 
he room. But out of doors it was light as day from the “fire 
tt Maluiya Muitishchi, two versts distant ; and from across the 
jstreet at the kabak which Mamonof’s Cossacks were rifling 
ame the drunken shouts of men, and the ay groans 
vere incessant. 

) Natasha listened to all these sounds without and within and 
4 lid not stir. At first she heard her mother mutter a prayer, 
vind her sighs, the creaking of the bed as she moved, Madame 


| sehoss’s well-known piping snore, Sonya’s gentle breathing. 


406 WAR AND PEACE. 


Then the countess spoke to Natasha. Natasha made na 
reply. 

“T think she’s asleep, mamma,” softly replied Sonya. The 
countess, after a little interval of silence, spoke again, but 
this time no one answered her. 

Soon after, Natasha heard her mother’s measured breathing. 

Natasha did not move, though her little bare foot, peeping 
out from under the bed-covering, felt the chill of the unecar- 
peted floor. 

A cricket, as though proud of watching over all, chirped in 
a crevice. A cock crowed at a distance and was answered by 
another nearer. The shouts had ceased in the tavern; the 
only other sound was the constant groans of the adjutant. Na- 
tasha sat up in bed. 

“Scnya ? — Asleep ? — Mamma ?” she whispered. 

No one answered. 

Natasha slowly and cautiously arose. crossed herself, cau- 
tiously set her light, slender, bare foot on the cold, dirty floor. 
The boards creaked. She ran nimbly as a kitten for a few 
steps and took hold of the cold latch of the door. . 

It seemed to her as though something heavy were knocking 
with regular strokes on all the walls of the izba. It was her 
heart beating and almost bursting with terror and love. 

She opened the door, crossed the threshold, and set foot on 
the damp, cold earth of the passageway. The coolness re- 
freshed her. She touched a sleeping man with her bare foot, 
stepped over him, and opened the door into the izba where 
Prince Andrei was lying. It was dark in this room. On a 
bench in the corner, just back of the bed, whereon something 
lay, stood a tallow candle which in burning had taken the 
form of a great mushroom. 

Natasha, ever since that morning when she learned about 

Prince Andrei’s wound and that he was with them, had made 
up her mind that she must see him. She knew not why this 
was necessary, but she knew that the interview would be 
painful, and therefore she was all the more certain that it was 
inevitable. 
_ All that day she had lived in the sole hope of being able to 
see him that night. But now when the moment had actually 
come she was filled with horror at the thought of what she 
was going to see. How was he mutilated? How much of 
him was left? Was he like the adjutant’s incessant groans? 
Yes, he must be. In her imagination he was the very embodi- 
ment of these horrible groans, 


WAR AND PEACE. 407 


_ When she caught sight of an ill-defined mass in the corner, 
and took his knees thrust up under the bedeclothes for his 
shoulders, she imagined some horrible body, and her terror 
compelled her to pause. But an unexpected force compelled 
her forward. She cautiously took one step, then another, and 
found herself in the middle of the small room filled with lug- 
gage. On the bench in the corner under the holy pictures lay 
another man (this was Timokhin), and on the ‘floor lay two 
other men (the doctor and the valet). 

_ The valet sat up and whispered something. Timokhin, suf- 
fering from pain in his wounded leg, was not asleep, and stared 
with all his eyes at this strange apparition of a young girl in 
her white night-gown, dressing- sack, and night-cap. 

The sleepy and startled words of the valet, “ What do you 
want ? who is it?” merely caused Natasha to step the more 
quickly to what was lying in the corner. However terribly 
unlike the form of man that body was, she still must see it. 
She passed by the valet; the candle flared up, and she clearly 
saw Prince Andrei with his arms stretched out over the spread, 
and looking just as she had always known him. He was the 
same as ever. But the flushed face, his gleaming eyes gazing 
at her with ecstasy, and especially his delicate boyish throat, 
relieved by the opened shirt-collar, gave him a peculiarly inno- 
sent, babyish appearance such as she had never seen in him. 
_ She went to him, and threw herself on her knees with the 
swift, pliant grace of youth. 

He smiled, and extended to her his hand. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


A wrx had passed since Prince Andrei had come to himself 
in the field lazaret of Borodino. Almost all of this time he 
had been in a state of unconsciousness. His feverish condi- 
tion, and the inflammation of his intestines, which had suffered 
a lesion, must, in the opinion of the surgeon who attended him, 
zarry him off. But on the seventh day he ate a morsel of 
bread and drank some tea with appetite, and the doctor re- 
marked that his fever had diminished. 

Prince Andrei had come to himself in the morning. The 
first night after they left Moscow had been pretty warm, and 
Prince Andrei had not been moved from his calash ; but at 
Muitishchi he himself had asked to be taken into a house and 
ziven some tea. The anguish caused by moving him into the 


408 WAR AND PEACE. 


izba caused Prince Andrei to groan aloud, and to lose conscious: 
ness again. When they had placed him on the camp bed, he 
lay for a long time motionless, with closed eyes. ‘Then he had 
opened them, and asked in a whisper: ‘Can I have tea ?” 

This memory for even the least details of life amazed the 
surgeon. . He felt of his pulse, and, to his surprise and regret, 
discovered that his pulse was better. The doctor remarked it 
with regret, because from his experience he was certain that 
Prince Andrei could not live, and that if he were to live on he 
would only have to die a little later in terrible agony. 

The red-nosed major of his regiment, Timokhin, had been 
also brought to Moscow with him, wounded in the leg in the 
same battle of Borodino. They were accompanied by the sur- 
geon, the prince’s valet, his coachman, and two denshchiks. 

They handed Prince Andrei his tea. He drank it eagerly, 
looking with feverish eyes straight ahead at the door as though 
trying to understand and remember something. 

“T don’t want any more. Is Timokhin there?” he asked. 
Timokhin crept along on the bench toward him. 

“JT am here, your illustriousness.” 

“‘ How is the wound ? ” 

“Mine? It’s allright. But you?” 

Prince Andrei again lay thinking, as though trying to re- 
member something. 

“ Can’t you get ine the book ? ” he asked. 

“What book ?” 

«The New Testament. a 

“T haven’t one.’ 

The doctor promised to get one for him, a began. to. in- 
quire of the prince how ‘he felt. Prince Andrei answered 
reluctantly but intelligibly to all the doctor’s questions, and 
then said that he would like a bolster, for he felt uncomfort- 
able, and his wound was very painful. The doctor and valet 
took off the cloak which covered him, and, scowling at the 
putrid odor of the gangrene spreading through the wound, 
began to examine the terrible place. The surgeon found the 
state of things very unsatisfactory, made some different dispo- 
sition of the bandages, and turned the wounded man over, so 
that it made him groan again; and the agony caused in turn- 
ing him back again made him lose consciousness, and he 
began to be delirious. He kept insisting that they should 
fetch for him as quickly as possible the book that he had 
wanted, and place it in such and such a place. 

“ What would it cost you?” he asked. “I haven’t one— 


e 


WAR AND PEACE. 409 


please get me one! — let me have it for a little minute!” 
he pleaded, in a pitiful voice. 

The doctor went into the entry to wash his hands. 

“Akh! It’s terrible, truly!” said he to the valet, who was 
pouring water for him over his hands. “Only look at him 
fora moment. Why, it’s such agony that I am amazed that 
he endures it.” 

__“ Well, we have to take what is sent us! Oh Lord, Jesus 
Christ!” ejaculated the valet. 

For the first time, Prince Andrei realized where he was and 
what was the matter with him, and remembered that he had 
been wounded, and how, when the carriage stopped at Mui- 
‘tishchi, he had asked to be taken into the izb4. His mind 
grew coniused again from the pain, but he came to himself, 
for a second time, in the izba, as he was drinking the tea; and 
then once more, as he went over all his experience, he more 
vividly than anything else recalled that moment at the field 
lazaret when, at sight of the sufferings of the man whom he so 
hated, new thoughts, that gave promise of happiness, came 
to him. 

And these thoughts, though obscure and vague, now again 
took possession of his mind. He remembered that a new 
happiness had come to him, and that this happiness was some- 
how connected with the Gospel. Therefore he had asked for 
the New Testament. 

But the new position in which his wound had been placed, 
and the turning him over, had again confused his thoughts ; 
and when, for the third time, he awoke to a consciousness of 
life, it was in the absolute silence of night. 

All were asleep around him. A cricket was chirping in 
Mother room; some one was shouting and singing in the 
street ; cockroaches were rustling over the table, the holy pic- 
ures, and the walls; a fat fly came blundering against his 
willow, and buzzed around the tallow candle with the mush- 
‘00m arrangement that stood near him. 

‘His mind was not in its normal condition. The healthy 
nan ordinarily thinks, feels, and remembers a countless collec- 
ion of objects at one and the same time; but he has the power 
md strength to choose one series of thoughts or phenomena, 
md to give to this series all his attention. 

_ The man in health, no matter how deep may be his thoughts, 

an put them aside at a moment’s notice in order to speak a 
Ourteous word to any one coming in, and then immediately 
Oo resume them again, 





















410 WAR AND PEACE. 


Prince Andrei’s mind was not in a normal condition in this 
respect. All its forces were more keen and active than ever, 
but their activity was entirely outside of his will. They 
were governed by the most heterogeneous thoughts and 
visions. : 

Sometimes his mind began suddenly to work, and with an 
energy, clearness, and subtlety such as it had never shown 
when he was in health. And then just as suddenly, in th 
midst of this fabrication of his brain, some unexpected vision 
would interpose and interrupt, and he would not have the 
strength to return to it. | 

“Yes, a new happiness was revealed to me, —a happiness, 
man’s indefeasible right,” he said to himself, as he lay in the 
dusky quiet izba, and looked up with feverishly wide-open 
and fixed eyes. ‘A happiness to be found outside of material 
forces, outside of exterior, material influences, the happiness 0 
the spirit alone, of love. Every man can understand it, but 
God alone can adjudge it and prescribe it. But how does Go 
prescribe this law? Why did the Son ?” — 

And suddenly the course of his thoughts was broken off. 
and Prince Andrei heard, but he could not tell whether he 
really heard it or whether it was his delirium, — he heard a 
low lisping voice constantly rehearsing in measured rhythm 
“4 piti — pitti — piti” —and then again “?@ ti-ti,’ and then 
“{ piti— piti — piti,” and then once more “ i titi.” 

At the same time that this whispered music was ringing 
Prince Andrei felt that over his face, over the very centre 0! 
it, was rising a strange sort of airy edifice of delicate little 
needles or shavings. He felt — but this was trying to him 
that it was necessary for him to keep in perfect equilibrium 
so that the growing edifice might not crumble ; but neverthe 
less it fell down, and then slowly arose again to the sounels 
of this whispered, rhythmic music. ; 

“It is growing, it is growing! it is stretching up and grow 
ing!” said Prince Andrei to himself. 

At the same time that he heard the whispered music, ap 
with the perception of that upstretching and rising edifice 0) 
needles, Prince Andrei could see by fits and starts the ruddy 
circle of the candle light, and could hear the rustling of th 
eockroaches and the buzzing of the fly which blunder 
against his pillow and his face. And whenever the fly struc 
his face it produced a burning sensation; but at the sant 
time he was amazed because when it touched the domail 
occupied by that structure of needles it, did not affect it 


a 
4 
fig 


WAR AND PEACE. 411 


| Then, moreover, there was something else singular. This 
vas something white by the door, it was a statue of the 
phinx, which also crushed him. 

_ “But maybe that is my shirt on the table,” thought Prince 
Indrei, “but these are my legs, and that is the door, but why 
wes that structure rise up and stretch out so, and that 
iti —piti — piti i ti-ti i piti— piti— piti ? — That is enough — 
lease stop,” begged Prince Andrei as though of some one. 
tnd suddenly again his thoughts and feeling became extraor- 
‘marily clear and distinct. 

“Yes, love,” he thought with perfect distinctness, “but not 
hat love which loves for a purpose, for a personal end, but 
hat love which I for the first time experienced when, dying, 
Saw my enemy, and could still love him. I experienced the 
2eling of love which is the very substance of the soul, and 
which needs no object. And even now I experience that 
lessed feeling. To love one’s neighbors, to love one’s ene- 
ues. Always to love —to love God in all his manifestations. 
0 love one’s friends is human love; but to love one’s enemies 
‘divine. And this is what made me experience such bliss 
then I felt that I loved that man! What has become of him? 
3 he living, or — 

“Love in its human form may pass over into hate; but God’s 
ive cannot change. - Nothing, not even death, can destroy it. 
i is the very substance of the soul. But how many people 
ive I hated in my life! And none have I ever loved more 
armly or hated more bitterly than her!” 

And he vividly pictured Natasha, not as she had formerly 
emed to his imagination, through her charming personality 
one; but, for the first time, in her spiritual nature. And he 
iderstood her feelings, her suffering, her shame, and her 
pentance. 

He now for the first time realized all the cruelty of his 
munciation, saw the cruelty of his break with her. 

“If I might only see her once again — once again look into 
‘r eyes, and tell her.” | 

CL pitti — piti— piti —i ti-ti i piti— piti—bumm!” went 
e@ fly. And his attention was suddenly diverted to that 
her world of delirious activity in which such strange things 
Ok place. In this world, just the saime as before, that edifice 
jose and crumbled not, the candle burned with its red halo, 
‘€ same shirt-sphinx * lay by the door; but, in addition to 
| this, there was a squeaking sound, there was the odor xf 4 


* Rubashka-sfinks. 





! 


412 WAR AND PEACE. 


cooling breeze, and a new white sphinx appeared, standing in 
front of the door. And this sphinx had a pallid face, and 
the sparkling eyes of that same Natasha vf whom he had but 
just been thinking. 

“Oh! how trying this incessant hallucination is!” said 
Prince Andrei to himself, striving to banish this vision from 
his imagination. But the face still stood in front of him in 
all the vividness of reality: nay, this face approached him. 

Prince Andrei was anxious to return to the former world of 
pure thought, but he could not, and the delirium compelled 
him into its thraldom. The low whispering voice continued 
its rhythmic lisping, something oppressed him like a weight, 
and the strange vision stood in front of him. 

Prince Andrei summoned all his energies so as to become 
master of himself; he moved, and suddenly in his ears there 
was a humming, his eyes grew clouded, and, like a man plunged 
in water, he lost consciousness. 

When he came to his senses, Natasha, the veritable living 
Natasha, whom of all people in the world he had been most 
anxious to love with that new, pure, divine love just revealed 
to him, was before him, on her knees! 

He realized that, this was the living, actual Natasha; and. 
he felt no surprise, but only a gentle sense of gladness. 

Natasha, on her knees before him, held back her sobs and. 
gazed at him timidly but intently ; she could not stir. Her 
face was pale and motionless; only the lips quivered slightly. 

Prince Andrei drew a sigh of relief, smiled and stretched 
out his hand. 

“You?” he asked. ‘“ What happiness!” 

Natasha, still on her knees, with swift but cautious move- 
ment bent over to him, and, cautiously taking his hand, bent 
her face down to it and began to kiss it, scarcely touching 1 
with her lips. 

“Forgive me!” she murmured, lifting her head and gazing 
et; hime“ Forgive me 12? 

“T love you!” said Prince Andrei. 

“ Forgive ” — 

“ What have I to forgive ?”’ asked Prince Andrei. 

“ For — give me for — what I—did!” stammered Natasha 
almost inaudibly, and she began to kiss his hand faster than 
before, scarcely touching it with her lips. 

“JT love thee better, more dearly than before,” said Prince 
Andrei, lifting her face with his hand so that he might look 
into her eyes. 





. WAR AND PEACE. 413 


, Those eyes, overflowing with blissful tears, looked at him 
‘timidly, compassionately, and with the ecstasy of love. Na: 
jtasha’s face was thin and pale, the lips swollen; it had no 
trace of beauty; it was frightful. But Prince Andrei did not 
imotice that; he saw her sparkling eyes, and they were 
beautiful. 
| Voices were heard behind them. Piotr, the prince’s valet, 
‘now thoroughly awake, aroused the doctor. Timokhin, who 
had not been asleep at all on account of the pain in his leg, 
‘had not noticed what had been going on, and, solicitously cov- 
ering himself, curled himself up on the bench. 

“What does this mean?” asked the doctor, sitting up. 
‘Please, sudaruinya !” 
| At the same time the maid sent by the countess to fetch 
‘her daughter knocked at the door. 
__ Like a somnambulist awakened in the midst of her dream, 
Natasha left the room, and, returning to her own izba, fell sob- 
bing on her bed. 


| From that day forth, during all the rest of the Rostofs’ 
journey, at all their halts and resting-places, Natasha staid 
‘by the wounded Bolkonsky’s side, and the doctor was forced 
to contess that he had never expected to see in a young girl 
such constancy or such skilfulness in nursing a wounded man. 
| Terrible as it seemed to the countess to think that the 
‘prince might (or, as the doctor said, probably would) die dur- 
mg the journey, in her daughter’s arms, she had not the heart 
0 refuse Natasha. 

Though, in consequence of the now re-established relation- 
ship between the wounded prince and Natasha, it occurred to 
shem that in case he recovered the engagement might be re- 
ewed, no one — Natasha and Prince Andrei least of all — 
spoke about it. The undecided question of life and death 
fanging over, not Bolkonsky alone, but over Russia as well, 
cept all other considerations in the background. 


: 
CHAPTER XXXIIL 


PreRRE awoke late on the fifteenth of September. His head 
ched ; ‘his clothes, in which he had slept without undressing, 
tung heavy on him, and his mind was burdened by a dull con- 
clousness of something shameful which he had done the 
ught before. 


414 WAR AND PEACE. ‘ 


This shameful act was his talk with Captain Ramball. 

It was eleven o’clock by his watch, but it seemed peculiarly 
dark out of doors. Pierre got up, rubbed his eyes, and seeing 
the pistol with its carved handle, which Gerasim had replaced 
on the writing-table, Pierre remembered where he was and 
what was before him on that day. . 

“But am I not too late?” he queried. “No, probably he 
would not make his entrée into Moscow later than twelve 
o'clock.” 

Pierre did not allow himself to think what was before him, 
but he made all the greater haste to act. 

Having adjusted his attire, Pierre took up the pistol and 
made ready to go. But then the thought for the first time 
occurred to him how he should carry his weapon through the 
street otherwise than in his hand. It was certainly hard to 
hide the great pistol under the flowing kaftan. Nor was it 
possible to keep it out of sight in his belt or under his arm, 
Moreover the pistol had been discharged, and Pierre had not 
had time to reload it. . 

“Well, the dagger is just as good,” said he to himself, 
though more than once, while deliberating over the accom- 
plishment of his undertaking, he had come to the conclusion 
that the chief mistake made by the student in 1809 consisted 
in his trying to kill Napoleon with a dagger. 

But as Pierre’s chief end consisted not so much in fulfilling 
the scheme which he planned as it did in proving to him- 
self that he had not renounced his purpose, and was doing 
everything to fulfil it, Pierre hastily seized the blunt and 
notched dagger in its green sheath, which he had bought 
together with the pistol at the Sukharef tower, and concealed 
it under his waistcoat. 

Having belted up his kaftan and pulled his hat down over 
his eyes, Pierre, trying to make no noise and to avoid the cap- 
tain, crept along the corridor and went into the street. 

The fire which he had looked at so indifferently the even- 
ing before had woticeably increased during the night. Mos- 
cow was burning in various directions. At one and the same 
time the carriage-market, the district across the river,* the 
Gostinnui Dvor, the Povarskaya, the boats on the Moskva, and 
the timber-yards by the Dorogomilovsky bridge, were on fire. 

Pierre’s route took him by cross-streets to the +Povar- 
skaya, and thence along the Arbat to St. Nikola Yavlennol, 
where, in his imagination, he had determined should be the 


* The Zamoskvoretchye. 





WAR AND PEACE. 415 


\place for the execution of his project. Most of the houses 
‘had their doors and window shutters nailed up. The. streets 
‘and alleys were deserted. The air was full of smoke and the 
)smell of burning. Occasionally he met Russians with anx- 
lously timid faces, and Frenchmen of uncitified, military 
aspect, who walked in the middle of the street. All looked 
‘with amazement at Pierre. The Russians were impressed 
mot only by his great height and stoutness, his strange, 
gloomily concentrated and martyr-like expression of face and 
figure, and they stared at him because they could not make 
}out to what rank of life he belonged. The French followed 
i ee in amazement, because Pierre, unlike the other Russians, 
paid absolutely no attention to them, instead of looking at 
jthem in trepidation or curiosity. 

| At the gates of one house three Frenchmen, trying to talk 
‘to some Russian servants who could understand nothing that 
apes said, stopped Pierre and asked him if he knew French. 

Pierre shook his head and went on his way. In another 
-eross-street the sentinel mounted by a green caisson chal- 
lenged him, and it was not until Pierre heard his threatening 
call repeated and the click of his musket, which the sentinel 
3 up, that he realized that he must go round on the other 


side of the street. 

He heard nothing and saw nothing of what was going on 
around him. With a sense of nervous haste and horror, he 
took with him, like something terrible and alien to him, that 
project of his, and feared —taught by his experience of the 
night before —that something would distract him. But it 
was not Pierre’s destiny to reach his destination in the same 
frame of mind. Moreover, even if there had occurred nothing 
‘bo detain him, his project could not now have been carried out, 
for the reason that Navoleon, some four hours previously, had 
passed through the Dorogomilovsky suburb, across the Arbat, 
‘mto the Kreml, and now was seated in the gloomiest frame of 
‘mind in the imperial cabinet of the Kreml palace, issuing 
‘Tetailed and urgent orders in regard to the measures to be 
taken at once for quenching the fires, preventing pillage, and 
re-assuring the inhabitants. 

But Pierre knew nothing about this: wholly absorbed in 
‘the actual, he was tormenting himself as men do who recog- 
‘Mize that their undertaking is impossible, not because of its 
ulifficulties, but because it is so entirely unsuited to their 
wature. He was tormented by his fear that at the decisive 
Moment he should weaken, and in consequence of it lose his 
self-respect, 









416 WAR AND PEACE. 


Although he saw nothing and heard nothing, he instinct- 
ively took the right road and made no mistake in following 
the cross-streets that led him into the Povarskaya. 

But in proportion as Pierre approached the Povarskaya the 
smoke grew denser and denser, and he even began to feel the 
heat from the fire. Occasionally, he could see tongues of 
flame behind the roofs of the houses. More people were met 
on the streets, and these people were more excited and anx- 
ious. But Pierre, though he was conscious that something 
extraordinary was going on around him, did not realize that 
he was approaching the conflagration. 

As he followed along a foot-path that skirted a large open 
space, bordered on one side by the Povarskaya, on the other 
by*the park attached to Prince Gruzinsky’s mansion, Pierre 
suddenly heard near him the pitiful shrieks of a woman. He 
stopped as though wakened out of a dream, and raised his head. 

On one side of the foot-path, on the dry, dusty grass, was 
piled up a heap of household furniture : feather bed, samovar, 
sacred pictures, and trunks. On the ground, next the trunk, 
sat a lean woman, not young, and with long, projecting upper 
teeth. She was dressed in a black cloak and acap. This woman 
rocked herself to and fro, and was muttering as she wept and. 
sobbed. Two little girls, ten or twelve years old, dressed in 
short, dirty skirts and little cloaks, gazed at their mother 
with an expression of perplexity on their pale, frightened 
faces. A little boy of seven, in a chuika and cap altogether 
too big for him, was weeping in his old nurse’s arms. A 
dirty, bare-legged servant girl was sitting on a trunk, and, hay- 
ing let down her pale blond plait, was pulling out the scorched 
hairs, smelling of them as she did so. The husband of the 
family, a short, round-shouldered little man, in undress uni- 
form, with wheel-like little side-whiskers, and _ love-locks 
brushed smoothly from under his cap, with impassive face, 
was sorting the trunks piled one on top of the other, and 
trying to get some clothes out. 

The woman almost threw herself at Pierre’s feet when she 
saw him. 

“Oh, good father! Oh, orthodox Christian! Help, save 
her ! — Oh, dear sir !* — Whoever you are, help!” she cried, 
through her sobs. “My little daughter!— my daughter! —- 
My youngest daughter has been left behind! —She is burning 
up! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh, why did I nurse thee ?— Oh! Oh! 
6) | 

“There! that’ll do, Marya Nikolayevna,” expostulated her 

* Golubchik, 


WAR AND PEACE. 417 


ebana, in a mild voice, but evidently merely so as to make 
a good impression on the stranger. “Sister must have got 
her. If not, it’s all over with her by this time,” he added. 

“Monster! Villain!” viciously screamed the woman, sud- 
denly ceasing to weep. “There’s no heart in you! You have 
no pity for your own child! Any other man would have 
snatched her from the fire. But you are a monster — and not 
aman, and not a father. — But you, sir, you are noble!” cried 
the woman, addressing Pierre rapidly, and sobbing. “The 
foW was on fire; ours caught. The girl cried: We are on 
fre.’ We tried to save what we could. Whatever we could 
lay our hands on, we carried out.— This here is what we 
saved. — The holy picture * and our wedding bed —all the 
vest was lost. We got the children, all but Katitchka! Oh! - 
Oh! Oh! Oh, Lord!” and again she burst into tears. “My 
darling little one! she’s burnt up! she’s burnt up!” 

_ “But where was it, where was she left ?” asked Pierre. 

By the expression ‘of his. excited face, the woman realized 
that this man might help her. 

“Batyushka! . Father!” she cried, clasping him around the 
legs. “Benefactor! set my heart at ease!— Aniska, go, you 
aasty hussy! show him the way,” she cried to the girl, and 
mgrily opened her mouth, by this action still more exposing 
aer long teeth. 

_ “Sead the way, lead the way —I—I,I will do what I 
a stammered Pierre, in a panting voice. 

The dirty-looking oirl came out from behind the trunk, put 
ap her braid, and, with a sigh, started off down the foot- path, 
with her stubbed, bare feet. 

Pierre had, as it were, wakened suddenly to life after a 
adeavy swoon. He raised ‘his head higher, his eyes were filled 
with the spark of life, and, with rapid strides, he followed the 
zirl, passed her, and hurried along the Povarskaya. The 
whole street was shrouded in clouds of black smoke. Tongues 
of flame here and there darted out from it. A great throng of 
people were packed together in front of the fire. In the mid- 
lle of the street stood a French general, and he was saying 
something to those around him. Pierre, accompanied by the 
| zirl, was going toward the place where the general stood, but 
Prench soldiers halted him : — “ On ne passe pas — You cannot 
pass ! i 
_ “This way, uncle,” f cried the girl; “ we'll go round by this 


* Bozhye blagoslovénye : literally, Go&s benediction. 
; t Dyddinka, diminutive of dyddya. 
| 


VOL. 3.— 2%. 


418 WAR AND PEACE. 


side street, through Nikulini’s.” Pierre turned back, and al- 
most ran as he hastened in her footsteps, so as to overtake 
her. The girl scurried along, turned down a cross-street at 
the left, and, passing by three houses, turned into the gates of 
a house at the right. . 

“There it is—right there!” cried the girl, and, running 
across the yard, she opened a wicket door in the deal fence, 
and, stepping back a step, pointed out to Pierre a small 
wooden “wing” where the flames were burning bright and 
hot. One side was already fallen in; the other was burning, 
and the flames were bursting out from the broken windows 
and from under the roof. | 

When Pierre reached the wicket he was suffocated by the 
heat, and involuntarily drew back. 

“ Which, — which is your house ?” he asked. 

“Oh! Oh! Okh!” howled the girl, as she pointed to the 
wing. “That one there; that was our own home.* 

“Are you burnt up, O Katitchka! our treasure! my darling 
baruishnya! Oh! Okh!” howled Aniska, at the sight of the 
fire, feeling that it was necessary for her to express also her 
feelings. 

Pierre edged toward the burning wing, but the heat was 
so powerful that he was obliged to make a wide cirele around 
the building, and he came out next a large house which was as 
yet burning only on one side of the roof. A great crowd of 
Frenchmen swarmed around it. 

Pierre could not at first understand what these Frenchmen 
were doing, who appeared to be dragging something, but, 
when he saw one of them strike a peasant with the flat of his 
sabre, and take away from him a foxskin shuba, Pierre had a 
dim idea that pillaging was going on there; still the idea 
merely flashed through his mind. 

The noise of the crackling and the erash of falling walls 
and ceilings, the hissing and snapping of the flames, and the 
excited cries of the people, the spectacle of billowing, whirl- 
ing clouds of smoke now thick and black, now dotted with 
gleaming sparks, now lighted up with solid, sheaf-shaped 
red and golden-scaled flames lapping the walls, the sense of 
the heat and the smoke, and the swiftness of motion, all 
served to produce upon Pierre the usual exciting effect of 
fires. This effect was peculiarly powerful upon him, because 
suddenly, at the sight of this fire, he felt himself liberated 
from the oppression of his thoughts. He felt young, gay 


* She calls kvartira (quarters) fatéra, as 


WAR AND PEACE. 419 


agile, and resolute. He ran round the wing from the burning 
‘house, and tried to force his way into that part of it that was 
still standing, when suddenly he heard, over his very head, 
several voices shouting, immediately followed by the rush and 
metallic ring of some heavy body falling near him. 

Pierre looked round and saw, in the windows of the house, 
some Frenchmen who had just flung out a chest of drawers, 

full of some metallic articles. Other French soldiers, standing 
‘below, were running to the chest of drawers. 
~. “Well, what does this fellow want here?” * eried one of 
the Frenchmen, seeing Pierre. 
_ “Achild in this house? Haven’t you seen a child?” asked 
Pierre, in French. 

“Hold! What’s he prating about! Go to the devil!” -re- 
plied a voice; and one of the soldiers, evidently fearing that 
it was Pierre’s intention to rob them of the silver and bronzes 
that were in the drawers, came up to him in a threatening 
Inanner. 

_ “A child?” cried the Frenchman from above. “I heard 
something squealing in the garden. Perhaps ’twas the poor 
‘man’s little brat. Must be humane, you know.” 

“Where is he? Where is he ?”? demanded Pierre. 

“There! There!” cried the Frenchman from the window, 
pointing to the garden behind the house. “Wait, ’m coming 
Tight down.” And, in fact, in a moment the Frenchman, a 
black-eyed fellow with a spot on his cheek, and in his shirt- 
sleeves, sprang out from the window of the first story, and, 
giving Pierre a slap on the shoulder, ran with him down into 
the garden. “Hurry up, boys,” he cried to his comrades. 
“Beginning to grow warm.” 

Running behind the house, on the sand-strewn path, the 
Frenchman gave Pierre’s arm a pull and pointed to the circle. 
On a bench lay a little maiden of three years, in a pink dress. 

-“There’s your brat. Ah! a little girl! So much the bet- 
ter,” said the Frenchman. “Good-by, old fellow. Must be 
humane. We are all mortal, you see.” + And the Frenchman 
with the spot on his cheek hurried back to his comrades. 


* “Fh bien! quest ce qual veut, celui-la ?” 

+t “Un enfant dans cette maison ? N’avez-vous pas vu un enfant ?”— Tiens ! 
gwestice qwil chante, celui-la? Va te promener.”,—“‘Un enfant? J’ai entendu 
‘prailler quelque chose au jardin. .Peut-étre vest son moutard au bonhomme. 
-Faut étre humain, voyez vous.” —‘* Ou est-il 2 Ou est-il 2” —** Par ici! Par 
tei! Attendez! je vais descendre. Dépéchez-vous, vous witres. Commence a- 
{aire chaud. —Voila votre moutard. Ah, une petite! —tant mieux. Au revoir, 
mon gros, Faui etre humain, Nous sommes tous mortels, voyez-vous |? 


420 WAR AND PEACE. 


Pierre, choking with delight, started back to the girl, and 
was going to put the little one in his arms. But the little 
one, pale like her mother, and sick with the scrofula, —a dis- 
agreeable-looking child, — seeing the strange man, set up a 
screech and tried to run away. Pierre, however, seized her, 
and took her in his arms. She screamed in a desperately 
angry voice, and with her slender little arms struggled to tear 
herself away from Pierre, and to bite him with her slobbery 
mouth. Pierre was seized by a feeling of horror and repul- 
sion, such as he would have felt at contact with any nasty 
little animal. But he forced himself not to throw the child 
down, and hastened with her back to the great house. He 
found it impossible to return the same way: the girl, Aniska, 
had disappeared, and Pierre, with a feeling of pity and dis- 
gust, holding to his heart as tenderly as he could the passion- 
ately screaming and wet little girl, ran through the garden to 
find another exit. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 


WueEn Pierre, making his way round by yards and alleys, 
brought his burden back to Prince Gruzinsky’s garden, on the 
corner of the Povarskaya, he. did not at first recognize the 
place which he had left when he went after the child —it was 
so swarming with people and with household furniture. Be- 
sides the Russian families taking refuge here with their treas- 
ures, there were also many French soldiers, in various garb. 

Pierre paid no attention to them. He was in haste to find 
the chinovnik’s family, so as to restore the little girl to her 
mother and then go and rescue some one else. It seemed to 
him that he had still very much to do, and as speedily as pos- 
sible. Heated with the fire and his exertion in running, Pierre 
at that moment experienced more keenly than ever that feel- 
ing of youth, energy, and resolution which had taken posses- 
sion of him when he started to rescue the little child. 

The little girl was calmer now, and, clinging to Pierre’s kaf- 
tan, she sat on his arm, and like a little wild animal looked 
around her. | 

Pierre occasionally looked down at her and smiled. It 
seemed to him that he saw something touchingly innocent 
in that scared and sickly little face. 

Neither the chinovnik nor his wife was to be seen in the place 
where they had been before. Pierre, with rapid strides, wan- 
dered round among the people, scrutinizing the various faces — 
that he met. 


WAR AND PEACE. 49} 


His attention was accidentally attracted to a Georgian or Ar. 

menian family, consisting of a handsome man of very advanced 
age, with a face of Oriental type, and dressed in a new tulup 
and new boots; an old woman of the same type, and a young 
‘Woman. ‘his very young woman seemed to Pierre the perfec- 
tion of Oriental beauty, with her dark brows delicately arched, 
and her long face of remarkable freshness of complexion and 
genuine but expressionless beauty. Amid the indiscriminate 
heap of household articles on the green, she, in her rich satin 
‘mantle and bright lilac kerchief covering her head, reminded 
one of a delicate hot-house flower flung out into the snow. She 
Sat on a parcel behind the old woman, and with her motionless, 
big, dark, oblong eyes, shaded by long lashes, looked at the 
ground. 

Evidently she was conscious of her beauty, and it filled her 
with alarm. This face struck Pierre, and, in spite of his haste 
as he passed along the fence, several times he glanced round 
at her. 

_ On reaching the fence and still not finding those of whom 
he was in search, Pierre paused and looked around. 

| Pierre’s figure, with the child in his arms, was now even 
more remarkable than before, and a number of Russians, both 
men and women, gathered round him. 

“Have you lost any one, dear man ?” — “You are a noble, 
aren't you?” — “Whose child is that?” were among the 
questions put to him. 

Pierre explained that the child belonged to a woman in a 
black mantle, who had been sitting in that very spot with her 
ehildren; and he asked if no one knew who she was, and 
where she had gone. 

“It must be the Anferofs,” said an old deacon, addressing a 
dock-marked woman. “Lord, have mercy! Lord, have mercy!” 
ae added, in his usual bass. / 

“Where are the Anferofs?” asked the woman. “The 
Anferofs started early this morning. This may be Marya 
Nikolayevna or the Ivanofs’.” 

“He said a woman, but Marya Nikolayevna is a lady,” * 
said a household serf. 

— “Surely you must know her —long teeth, a thin woman,” 
said Pierre. 

“Certainly, it’s Marya Nikolayevna. They went into the 
garden as soon as these wolves came down on us,” said the 
deasant woman, pointing to the French soldiers. 


* Bdaruinya. 
‘| 


492 WAR AND PEACE. 


“Oh, Lord, have mercy!” again ejaculated the deacon. 

“Go down yonder, then. You'll find them. She’s there. 
She was all beat out; she was erying,” said the peasant 
woman. “She is over there. You'll find her.” 

But Pierre heard not what the woman said. For several 
seconds he had been watching anxiously what was going on a 
few steps away. He was looking at the Armenian family and 
a couple of French soldiers who had approached them. One 
of these soldiers, a little, nimble man, wore a blue overcoat 
belted with a rope. He had a night-cap on his head, and was 
barefooted. 

The second, who especially attracted Pierre’s attention, was 
a long, lank, round-shouldered, white-haired man, slow in his 
movements, and with an idiotic expression of countenance. 
He was clad in a frieze capote, with blue trousers, and Hes- 
sian boots come to holes. . 

The little bootless Frenchman in the blue overcoat had gone 
up to the Armenians, and, after making some remark, had seized 
the old man by the legs, and the old man had immediately 
begun to pull off his boots in great haste. 

The other one had taken up his position in front of the 
pretty Armenian girl, and, with his hands thrust deep in his 
pockets, was staring at her in perfect silence, without moving. 

“Take it, take the child!” exclaimed Pierre, addressing 
the peasant woman in imperative tones, holding out the httle 
girl. —“ Take her, and give her back to them !” he cried, and 
set the screaming child on the ground, and then turned once 
more to look at the Frenchmen and the Armenian family. 

The old man was, by this time, barefooted. The little 
Frenchman had appropriated his last boot, and was knock- 
ing the two together. The old man with a sob made some 
remark, but Pierre merely glanced at him; his whole atten- 
tion was attracted to the Frenchman in the capote, who, slowly 
swaggering, had by this time approached the young woman, 
and, drawing his hands from his pockets, was just taking het 
by the neck. 

The beautiful Armianka continued sitting in the same 
impassive posture, with her long lashes drooping, and appat 
ently neither saw nor felt what the soldier was doing to her. 

By the time Pierre had taken the several steps that sep 
rated him from the Frenchmen, the lank marauder in the 
capote had already snatched her necklace from the Armianké's 
neck, and the young woman, clasping her hands around ha 
throat, uttered a piercing shriek, 


WAR AND PEACE. 493 


od 


“Laissez cette femme !—Wet this woman alone!” roared 
Pierre in a furious voice, clutching the lank, stooping soldier 
oy the shoulder, and flinging him off. ‘The soldier fell flat, 
oicked himself up, and ran away. But his comrade, throwing 
lown his booty of boots, drew his cutlass, and advanced 
jhreateningly against Pierre. “See here! None of your 
ionsense!” he cried. 

_ Pierre was in that rapt state of fury which, when it came 
apon him, made him oblivious of everything, and multiplied 
us strength tenfold. He threw himself upon the barefooted 
#renchman, and, before the fellow had time to use his cutlass, 
te had knocked him over, and was belaboring him with his 
ists. 

_ The people gathered around with an approving yell, but 
ust at that instant appeared around the corner a mounted 
quad of French uhlans. The uhlans came up to Pierre and 
he Frenchman at a trot, and surrounded them. Pierre remem- 
yered nothing of what followed. He only remembered that 
i was pounding some one, that he was being pounded, and 
hat, finally, he became conscious that his arms were bound ; 
hat a crowd of French soldiers were standing round him, and 
‘earching his clothes. 

“We has a dagger, lieutenant,” were the first words that 
ierre comprehended. 

“Aha, armed!” said the officer, and he turned to the bare- 
doted soldier who had been taken at the same time with 
*lerre. 

“Very good; you shall tell all this at the court-martial,” 
uid the officer. And immediately he turned to Pierre. 
Parlez-vous frangais, vous?” Pierre glared around him 
‘ith bloodshot eyes, and made no reply. Evidently, his face 
dust have seemed very terrible, because the officer gave a 

hispered order, and four other uhlans detached themselves 
tom the squad, and stationed themselves on each side of 
‘lerre. ; 

© Parlez-vous Jrangais?” asked the officer a second time, 
eeping at a respectful distance from him. « Bring the inter- 
reter.” 

A little man in the dress of a Russian civilian came forth 
‘om the ranks. Pierre instantly knew by his attire and his 
teent that he was a Frenchman from some Moscow shop. 
“He does not look like a man of the common people,” said 
ie interpreter, eying Pierre. 

“Oh, ho! it seems to me he has the appearance of being 


4 


424 WAR AND PEACE. 


one of the incendiaries,” said the officer. “Ask him who he 
is,” he added. 

“Who are you?”* demanded the interpreter. “You 
should reply to the authorities,” said he. 

“TJ will not tell you who lam. Iam your prisoner. Take 
me away.” 

“Ah, ha!” exclaimed the officer, scowling. “Come on.” f 

A crowd had gathered around the uhlans. Closest of all to 
Pierre stood the pock-marked peasant woman with the little 
girl. When the squad started she sprang forward. 

“Where are they taking you, my good friend?” } she de- 
manded. “The little girl! what shall I do with the little girl 
if she isn’t theirs ?” insisted the woman. 

“What does this woman want ?” asked the officer. 

Pierre was like one drunk. His rapt state of mind was 
still more intensified at the sight of the little girl whom he 
had saved. 

“ What does she want ?” he exclaimed. ‘She has brought 
my daughter, whom I just saved from the flames,” he ex 
plained. “Adieu!” and he himself, not knowing why he 
should have told this aimless falsehood, marched off with reso- 
lute, enthusiastic steps, surrounded by the Frenchmen. 

This patrol of French horsemen was one of those sent out 
by Durosnel’s orders, to put a stop to pillaging and especially 
to apprehend the incendiaries who, according to the general 
impression prevalent that day among the French, were the 
cause of the conflagrations. After riding up and down several 
streets, the squad had gathered in some half-dozen Russians 
—a shop-keeper, two seminarists, a muzhik, and a man-ser- 
vant —and a few marauders. 

But of all the suspects the most suspicious of all seemed 
Pierre. When they were all taken to the place of detention, 
—a great mansion on the Zubovsky Val, — where the guard- 
house was established, Pierre was given a special, separate 
room, under a strong guard. 


* The interpreter says Ti kto ? instead of Tui kto ? 


+ “Ti nalair d@un homme du peuple.” — ‘‘ Oh oh! ca m’a bien Vair Mun des 
incendiaires. Demandez-lui ce qwil es.” — ‘‘ Je ne vous dirdi pas qui je surs. 
Je suis votre prisonnier. Emmenez-moi.” — ** Ah! ah! marchons.” 


t Golubchik tui moi (little pigeon thou mine). 


fees AND PEACE 


BY 


COUNT LYOF N. TOLSTOI 


FROM THE RUSSIAN BY 
NATHAN HASKELL DOLE 


AUTHORIZED TRANSLATION 


IN FOUR VOLUMES 


VOD LV 


NEW YORK 
THOMAS Y. CROWELL & COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


a oD, af h 
ha cee 


oy 


Po ape Spee er (ie Dek a os 
PRAT Bist Hest) a 
ad = 
i Cola {i ataay 4 
| A ee ef ni a 


ea vel 2 










; BF iy . 

' ‘ Sy 
/ : » La 
CopyriGHuT, 1889, BY Bes: % 

T, Y. CROWELL & co. “ane 
CopyRiIGHT, 1917, pth) om vi 
- NATHAN HASKELL DOL 
i | ut \y | z y 


eA 


WAR AND PEACE. 


VOL. IV.—PART FIRST. 
CHAPTER I. 


_ in Petersburg at this time in the highest circles was raging 
vith greater violence than ever before the complicated battle 
tween the parties of Rumyantsef, the French, Marya 
"eodorovna, the T'sesarevitch, and others, absorbing, as always, 
he energies of the court drones. But Petersburg life went on 
nits old channels — tranquil, sumptuous, engrossed only in 
ihantoms and reflections of life, and any one in the current of 
his life had need to exercise great energy to recognize the peril 
nd the difficult position in which the Russian nation was placed. 
‘here were the same levees and balls, the same French thea. 
te, the same court interests, the same official interests, and 
he same intrigues. 

It was only in the very highest circles that any efforts were 
1ade to realize the difficulties of the actual situation. It was 
ald in a whisper how differently the two empresses behaved 
1 such trying circumstances. The Empress Maria Feodo- 
dvna, concerned for the safety of the charities and educational 
stablishments of which she was the patroness, made her at- 
ingements to have all these institutions transferred to Kazan, 
nd the effects of these institutions had already been removed. 

The Empress Elizabeth,* on the other hand, when the 
uestion arose, what she wished done, replied, with that gen- 
ine Russian patriotism characteristic of her, that she had no 
rders to give in regard to the governmental institutions, since 
iat was the province of the sovereign; while, as far as what 
spended upon her personally, she declared that she should 
3 the last to leave Petersburg. 

On the seventh of September, the same day as the battle 
- Borodino, Anna Pavlovna gave a reception, the flower 
* Yelizavieta Alekseyevna, the consort of the emperor, in contradistine 
on to the empress dowage-. 

VoL. 4, —1, 1 


2 “WAR AND PEACE. 


of waich was to be the reading of a letter from his eminence | 
the metropolitan, sent to the sovereign together with a sacred | 
picture of his holiness Saint Sergii. This letter was consid- | 
ered a model of patriotic, spiritual eloquence. It was to be 
read by Prince Vasili himself, who was famous for his skill | 
as areader. (He had even read at the empress’s !) His art | 
of reading consisted in decanting the words now in a loud | 
tone and now in a sweet tone, now giving a desperate roar, | 
now a tender murmur, absolutely independent of the sigmifr | 
cance of the words, so that it was wholly a matter of chance | 
whether the roar or the murmur fell on one word or another. | 

This reading, like everything that happened at Anna Pavy- | 
lovna’s receptions, had a political significance. This particular | 
evening there were to be present a number of important | 
_ people whom it was necessary to put to shame for attending | 
the French theatre, and to stir to a patriotic state of mind. — | 

Already a considerable number of guests had gathered, but | 
Anna Pavlovna did not yet see in her drawing-room all whose | 
presence was deemed necessary, and accordingly she postponed | 
the reading and permitted general conversation. | 

The chief item of news that day in Petersburg was the) 
Countess Bezukhaya’s illness. The countess had been unex- | 
pectedly taken ill several days before ; she had missed several | 
assemblies of which she was the adornment, and rumor had it 
that she received no one, and that, instead of the famous | 
Petersburg doctors who had usually prescribed for her, she 
had intrusted her case to an Italian doctor, who was treating 
her by some new and extraordinary method. 

All knew perfectly well that the charming countess’s illness 
arose from the difficulty of marrying two husbands at once, | 
and that the Italian’s treatment consisted in the removal of | 
these difficulties; but in Anna Pavlovna’s presence nQ one | 
even dared to think about this; it was as though it were not 
known by any one. 

“They say the poor countess is very ill. The doctor says it | 
is angina pectoris.” | 

“Angina? Oh, that is a terrible illness.” 

“They say the rivals are reconciled, thanks to this angina. 
The word angine was pronounced with great unction. 

“The old count, I am told, is very pathetic. He wept like} 
a child when the doctor told him that it was a dangerous 
ease.” | 

“Oh, it would be a terrible loss! She’s a bewitching 
creature !” | 










| 


2? | 


| | WAR AND PEACE. 3 
| 
| “You were speaking of the poor countess,” said Anna Pav- 
‘Toyna, joining the group. “TI sent to hear how she was. They 
‘informed me that she was a little better. Oh, unquestionably 
‘she is the most charming woman in the world,” said Anna 
Pavlovna, witha smile at her own enthusiasm. “We belong 
to different camps, but that does not prevent me from esteem. 
ing her as she deserves. She is very unhappy,” * added Anna 
‘Pavlovna. 

_ Supposing that Anna Pavlovna by these words slightly 
lifted the veil of mystery that shrouded the countess’s illness, 
one indiscreet young man allowed himself to express his 
‘amazement that physicians of repute had not been called, but 
that a charlatan, who might very easily administer dangerous 
remedies, was treating the countess. 

“You may be better informed than I am,” suddenly said 
Anna Pavloyna, with a cutting tone, to the inexperienced 
young man. “But I have been told on very good authority 
shat this doctor is a very learned and very skilful man. He 
is private physician to the Queen of Spain.” 

_ And having thus annihilated the young man, Anna Pavlovna 
sured to Bilibin, who, in another circle, having wrinkled up 
us skin, and evidently made ready to smooth it out again 
wreliminary to getting off a witticism, was speaking about the 

Austrians. 

“I find it charming,” said he, referring to a diplomatic 
locument, which had been sent to accompany some Austrian 
itandards captured by Wittgenstein —the hero of Petropolis, 
e héros de Pétropol —as he was called in Petersburg. 

“What, what is that?” said Anna Pavlovna, turning to 
um with a view to causing a silence so that the mot which 
he had already heard might be more effective. 

And Bilibin repeated the following authentic words of the 
lplomatic despatch which he himself had drawn up. 

“<The emperor returns the Austrian flags,’” said Bilibin, 
‘friendly flags that had lost their way when he found them.’ ” 
—* “On dit que la pauvre comtesse est trés-mal. Le médecin dit que c’est 
angine pectorale.” —“ L’angine? Oh, est une maladie terrible !?? —“ On 
ut que les rivaux se sont reconciliés grace aVangine.” — ‘Le vieux comte est 
uchant ace qwon dit. Ila pleuré comme un enfant quand le médecin lui a 
it que le cas était danyereux. — Oh ! ce serait une perte terrible. C'est une 
imme ravissante.” —‘ Vous parlez de la pauvre comtesse. J’ai envoyé savoir 
1/2 Ses nouvelles. On m’a dit quelle allait un peu mieux. Oh! sans doute, 

est la plus charmante Jemme du monde.— Nous appartenons a des camps 
iférents mais cela ne mempéche pas de l’estimer comme elle mérite. Elle 
it bien matheureuse.” 


Tt “ Vos informations peuvent étre meilleures que les miennes. Maisje sais 
2 bonne source que ce médecin est un homme tres-savant et trés-habile.” 


4. WAR AND PEACE. 


“Delightful, delightful!” exclaimed Prince Vasili. 

“The way to Warsaw, perhaps,” * said Prince Ippolit unex. 
pectedly, in a loud voice. All looked at him without under- 
standing what he meant. Prince Ippolit also looked round | 
with a complacent smile. He had just as little idea as the 
rest had of what the words he had spoken meant. During the 
time of his diplomatic career, he had more than once observed | 
that a few words thus unexpectedly thrown in seem very smart, 
and at every chance he made such remarks, the first that came 
to his tongue. “It may be capital,” he thought, “ but, even if 
it isn’t a success, still they will be able to make something 
out of it.” 

In fact, the awkward silence that ensued was broken by the 
appearance of the insufficiently patriotic individual whom 
Anna Pavlovna was expecting and hoped to convert, and she 
with a smile, and threatening Prince Ippolit with her finger, 
beckoned Prince Vasili to the table, and, placing two candles 
and the manuscript before him, invited him to begin. 

General silence : — | 

“ Most gracious Sovereign and Emperor,” deelaimed Prince | 
Vasili sternly, and gave his audience a look as much as to ask, 
“Who had anything to say against that?” “ Our chief captr- 
tal city, Moscow, the new Jerusalem, receives ITS Christ,” — he 
gave a sudden emphasis on the pronoun ITS. “Like as @ 
mother embracing her fervently devoted sons, and catching sight 
through the gathering murk of the splendid glory of thy | 
realm, she sings in her rapture, ‘ Hosanna ! Blessed is he that | 
cometh !?” 

Prince Vasili uttered these final words in a voice suggestive | 
of tears. | 

Bilibin attentively gazed at his finger-nails; and several | 
evidently felt abashed, and seemed to be asking, “What have | 
we done amiss?” Anna Pavlovna, in a whisper, went ahead | 
with the next sentence like an old woman repeating the 
prayer at communion : — “Jf the insolent and brazen Goliath,” 
she began. 

Prince Vasili read on : — 

“Tf the insolent and brazen Goliath from the confines of 
France bring his homicidal horrors upon the lands of Russia, 
humble faith, that sling of the Russian David, shall smite 
unexpectedly the head of his bloodthirsty pride. This image 


* “ Tempereur renvoic les drapeaux autrichiens, drapeaux amis et égarés 
gwil a trouvé hors de la route.” — “ Charmant, charmant ! 7 © Crest la route 
de Varsovie, peut-étre.” Ai 





WAR AND PEACE. 5 


of Saint Sergti, the ancient zealot of our country’s good, is sent 


to your imperial majesty. I regret that my failing powers 


_ prevent me from rejoicing in the sight of your beloved Jace. 
| Harnest prayers I shall raise to heaven : may the Almighty 


increase the generation of the righteous, and fulfil your 
majesty’s pious hopes.” 
“Quel force! (uel style!” were the encomiums passed 


-upon reader and author alike. 


Animated by this discourse, Anna Pavlovna’s guests for 
a long time still discussed the condition of the country, and 
made various predictions about the result of the battle which 


it was known was to be fought about that time. “Vous 
|: 
_have news to-morrow: it’s the sovereign’s birthday. I have a 
happy presentiment.” 


verrez —you will see,” exclaimed Anna Pavlovna. “We shall 


CHAPTER II. 


Anna Pavioyna’s presentiment was in fact justified. 

On the following day, during the Te Deum chanted at the 
palace in honor of the emperor’s birthday, Prince Volkonsky 
was called out from the chapel and handed an envelope from 
Prince Kutuzof. This contained Kutuzof’s report written 
from Tatarinovo on the day of the battle. Kutuzof wrote 
that the Russians had not fallen back a step, that the French 
had lost far more than ours, that he made his report in all 
haste from the field of battle, without having had time, as yet, 
to receive all details. 

Of course it was a victory. And instantly, without dismiss- 
ing the audience, a thanksgiving was sung to the Creator for 
his aid and for the victory. 

Anna Pavloyna’s presentiment was justified; and through- 


‘out the city there reigned, all the morning, joyfully festive 


enthusiasm. All considered the victory complete, and many 
went so far as to talk about Napoleon himself being a pris- 
oner, and of his overthrow and the choice of a new sovereign 
for France. 

_ Remote from the scene of action, and in the midst of court 
life, it was thoroughly difficult to realize events in their com- 
pleteness and real importance. Involuntarily, events in gen- 
eral grouped themselves around some special incident. Thus, 
im the present instance, the chief joy of the courtiers was 
Included not so much in the fact that we had won a victory, 


6 WAR AND PEACE. — 


as in the fact that the news of this victory had arrived pre- 
cisely on the sovereign’s birthday. It was a sort of success- 
ful surprise. 

In Kutuzof’s report mention was also made of the losses 
suffered by the Russians, and especially singled out for men- 
tion were Tutchkof, Bagration, Kutaisof. Accordingly, also, 
the melancholy side of the occurrence, as it presented itself 
there, in the Petersburg world, was made concrete in the one 
fact of Kutaisof’s death. All knew him: he was a favorite 
with the sovereign; he was young and interesting. On this 
day all who met said to each other: “ How wonderfully it all 
came about! Right in the midst of the mass ! And what a 
loss, Kutaisof! Akh! what a shame !” 

“What did I tell you about Kutuzof?” now exclaimed 
Prince Vasili, with all the pride of a prophet. “ I always said 
that he was the only one capable of beating Napoleon.” 

But on the following day no news was received from the 
army, and the general voice began to be anxious. The cour- 
tiers suffered from the painful state of ignorance in which the 
sovereign was left. 

“What a position for the sovereign!” said the courtiers ; 
and before the third day had passed they already began to 
pass judgment on Kutuzof, who was regarded as the cause of 
the sovereign’s uneasiness. 

Prince Vasili on that day ceased to boast of his protege 
Kutuzof, but maintained a discreet silence when the com- 
mander-in-chief was mentioned. 

Moreover, on the evening of this same day, as though all 
conspired together to alarm and disquiet the Petersburgers, 
another terrible piece of news was announced. The Countess 
Elena Bezukhaya suddenly died of that terrible disease which 
her friends found it so pleasant to name. ~ 

Officially, in all the great coteries it was declared that the 
Countess Bezukhaya had died of a terrible attack of angine 
pectorale, but in select circles details were forthcoming: how 
le médecin intime dela reine d’Espagne had prescribed for 
Ellen small doses of some medicine so as to bring about cer. 
tain effects, and how Ellen, worried because the old count had 
some suspicion of her, and because her husband, to whom she 
had written (that miserable, depraved Pierre), did not reply te 
her, suddenly took a tremendous dose of the drug prescribed, 
and died in agony because help could not be got to her. It was 
said that Priace Vasili and the old count had at first blamed 
the Italian; but the Italian had showed them such letters 





J 


i WAR AND PEACE. T 


from the late unfortunate countess that they had instantly let 


him go. ; 
_ Gossip in general was confined to these three unhappy 
events : — the ignorance in which the sovereign was left, the 


loss of Kutaisof, and Ellen’s death. 
On the third day after Kutuzof’s despatch had been re- 
ceived, a landed proprietor arrived at Petersburg from Mos- 
cow, and soon the whole city was ringing with the news that 
‘Moscow was abandoned to the French. 
' This was terrible! What a position it placed the sovereign 
in! Kutuzof was a traitor, and Prince Vasili, while receiving 
visites de condoléance for the death of his daughter, speaking 
of that same Kutuzof whom he had but shortly before: been 
‘praising (it was pardonable that in his grief he should forget 
‘what he said before), declared that it was idle to expect any- 
thing else from a blind and lewd old man. “I am only 
amazed that the fate of Russia should have been intrusted 
to such a man!” 
_ This news being as yet unofficial, there was still room for 
doubt, but on the following day the following despatch came 
from Count Rostopchin : — 


“ Prince Kutuzof’s adjutant brought me a letter wherein he demands 
of me police officers to conduct the army to the Riazan road. He pro- 
tests his regret at abandoning Moscow. Your majesty, Kutuzof’s act 
decides the fate of the capital and of your empire. Russia will thrill 
when she learns of the abandonment of that city, which is the focus of 
the greatness of Russia, where lie the ashes of your ancestors. I follow 
the army. I have sent everything away. It remains for me only to weep 
for the misfortune of my fatherland.”’ 


On receiving this letter, the sovereign sent Prince Volkon- 
sky with the following rescript to Kutuzof : — 


— **Prince Mikhail Hiaronovitch! Since September 9 I have had no 
Teport from you. Meantime I have received, by the way of Yaroslavl, 
under date of September 13, from the Governor-General of Moscow, 
the melancholy tidings that you and the army have decided to abandon 
‘Moscow. You may imagine the effect which these tidings produced upon 
me, and your silence deepens my amazement. I send General-Adjutant 
‘Prince Volkonsky with this to learn from you the condition of the army 
and what reasons compelled you to such a melancholy decision.’’ 


8 WAR AND PEACE. 


CHAPTER III. 


Nine days after the abandonment of Moscow, a messenger 
from Kutuzof arrived in Petersburg with the official confirma- 
tion of the abandonment of Moscow. ‘This courier was the 
Frenchman Michaud, but, though a foreigner, yet a Russian in 
heart and soul * — as he himself declared. } 

The sovereign immediately gave the courier audience in 
his cabinet in his palace on the Kamennui Ostrof. Michaud, 
who had never seen Moscow before this campaign and could 
not speak Russian, nevertheless felt greatly agitated when he 
appeared before “notre trés-gracieux souverain” (as he ex- 
pressed it in a letter) with the tidings of the burning of 
Moscow — the flames of which lighted up his way. Though 
the source of Mr. Michaud’s chagrin must have been very 
different from that from which the grief of the Russian peo- 
ple proceeded, Michaud drew. such a melancholy face, as he was 
ushered into the sovereign’s cabinet, that the sovereign instantly 
asked him: “Are you bringing me sad news, colonel ?” 

“Very sad, sire,” replied Michaud with a sigh, and drop- 
ping his eyes, “U’abandon de Moscou!” 

“Can they have surrendered my ancient capital without a 
battle?” exclaimed the emperor, an angry flush suddenly 
rising in his face. 

Michaud respectfully delivered the message with which he 
had been intrusted by Kutuzof; to wit, that it was a sheer 
impossibility to accept an engagement at Moscow, and that as 
but one choice was left, to lose both the army and Moscow, or 
Moscow alone, the field marshal had felt it his duty to choose 
the latter alternative. | 

The sovereign listened in silence, not looking at Michaud. 

“Has the enemy entered the city ?” he demanded. 

“Yes, your majesty, and it is a heap of ashes by this time. 
When I left it, twas all on fire,’ ¢ said Michaud resolutely ; 
but when he glanced at the emperor, Michaud was horror- 
struck at what he had said. The sovereign was breathing 
with quick, labored respirations ; his lower lip trembled, and 
his handsome blue eyes for an instant overflowed with tears. 

But this lasted only a moment. The sovereign suddenly 


* Quoique étranger, russe de ceur et dame. 
Tt “ L’ennemé est-il etré en ville 2’? — *‘ Out, sire, et elle est en cendres @ 
Vheure quwilest. Je lai ldissée toute en flammes.” 


WAR AND PEACE. 9 


scowled as though annoyed at himself for his weakness. And, 

raising his head, he turned to Michaud with a steady voice: — 

6 Tesee; colonel, from all that is happening to us,” said he, 
“that Providence demands great sacrifices of us —I am ready 
to submit to his will; but tell me, Michaud, how did you 
leave the army which saw my ancient capital thus abandoned 
without striking a blow? Did you not see any signs of dis- 
couragement ? ” 

Michaud, seeing this calmness of his “very gracious sover- 
eign,” instantly recovered his own presence of mind, but he was 
not yet ready to reply to the emperor’s straightforward and un- 
equivocal question, which demanded a straightforward answer. 

“Your majesty, will you allow me to speak freely, like a 
loyal soldier ?” he asked for the sake of gaining time. 

“Colonel, that is what I always demand,” said the emperor. 
“Conceal nothing from me: I wish to know absolutely how 
matters stand.” 

_ “Your majesty,” said Michaud, with a shrewd but scarcely 

perceptible smile on his lips, having now collected himself 

sufficiently to formulate his answer in a graceful and respect- 
ful ew de mots: “Your majesty, I left the whole army, from 

the chiefs down to the last soldier, without exception, in a 

state of terrible, desperate alarm ”’ — 

‘“ How is that?” interrupted the sovereign, darkly frowning. 
“My Russians allow themselves to be cast down by misfor- 
Sune? Never!” . 

This was all that Michaud wished so as to complete his 
geu de mots. 

“Your majesty,” said he, with a respectful but mischievous 
expression, “their only fear is that your majesty, through 
kindness of heart, will be persuaded to make peace. They 
are burning to fight,” said the accredited representative of the 
Russian people, “and to prove to your majesty by the sacri- 
fice of their lives how devoted they are.” * 

“Ah!” said the sovereign, re-assured, and with an affectionate 


* “ Te vois, colonel, par tout ce gut nous arrive, que la Providence exige de 
grands sacrifices de nous. —Je suis prét a me soumetire a toutes ses volontés ; 3 
mais dites mor, Michaud, comment avez-vous laissé Varmée en voyant ainsi, 
sans coup férir, abandonner mon ancienne capitale? N’avez-vous pas apercu 
du découragement ?” — “ Sire, me permettrez-vous de vous parler franchement 
en loyal militaire ?” —‘‘ Colonel, je Pexige toujours. Ne me cachez rien; je 
veux savoir absolument ce qwil en est.” —‘‘ Sire! j'ai laissé toute l’armée, 
depuis les chefs jusqu’au dernier soldat, sans exception dans une crainte épou- 
vantable, efrayante | /?? _** Comment ca? Mes Russes se laisseront-ils abattre 
par le malheur ? Jamais ! J” — **Sire, ils eraignent seulement que votre majesté 
par bonté de cwur ne se laisse persuader de faire la paix. Ils brilent de com< 
battre et de prouver a votre majesté par le sacrifice de leur vie, combien ils lui 

sont devoués.” 


10 WAR AND PEACE. 


gleam flashing from his eyes, as he tapped Michaud on the 
shoulder, “you relieve me, colonel.” 

The sovereign then dropped his head and remained for some 
time lost in thought. “Very well! Return to the army,” said he, 
drawing himself up to his full height, and turning to Michaud 
with a gentle but majestic gesture. ‘ And tell our brave men, 
tell all my good subjects everywhere you go, that when I have 
no soldiers left, I will place myself at the head of my beloved 
nobles and of my worthy peasants, and thus I will exhaust the 
last resources of my empire. It will furnish me yet with more 
than my enemies think,” said the sovereign, growing more and 
more moved. “But if ever it were written in the decrees of 
Divine Providence,” he went on to say, raising to heaven his 
beautiful, kindly eyes gleaming with emotion, “that my family 
should cease to reign on the throne of my ancestors, then, 
after having exhausted all the means that are in my power, I 
will allow my beard to grow to here” (the sovereign placed his 
hand half-way down his chest) “and I will go and eat potatoes 
with the humblest of my peasants sooner than sign the shame 
of my country and of my beloved nation, whose sacrifices I can. 
appreciate.” * 

Having said these words in a voice full of emotion, the sov- 
ereign suddenly turned round, as though he wished to hide 
from Michaud the tears that filled his eyes, and walked to the 
end of his cabinet. After standing there a few moments, he 
came back to Michaud with long strides and gave his arm a 
powerful squeeze below the elbow. His handsome, kindly face 
was flushed, and his eyes flashed with decision and fury : — 

“Colonel Michaud, forget not what I have said to you here: 
perhaps some day we shall recall it with pleasure — either 
Napoleon or J,” said the sovereign, laying his hand on his: 
chest. “We can no longer reign together. I have learned to 
know him; he shall never deceive me again!” f And the 
sovereign, with a frown, relapsed into silence. : 

* “ Bh bien, retournez a Varmée et dites a nos braves, dites a tous mes bons 
sujets partout ou vous passerez, que quand je n'aurais plus aucun soldat, je me 
mettrai, moi-méme, a la téte de ma cheére noblesse, de mes bons paysans, et 
Vuserai ainsi jusqua la derniére ressource de mon empire. Il m’en offre 
encore plus que mes ennemis ne pensent. Mais si jamais il fut écrit dans 
les décrets de la Divine Providence que ma dinastie dit cesser de régner 
sur le tréne de mes ancétres, alors, apres avoir épuisé tous les moyens qui sont 
en mon pouvoir, je me laisserai croitre la barbe jusqwici — et j'irai manger 
des pommes de terre avec le dernier de mes paysans plutot de siqnerla honte de 
ma patrie et de ma chére nation, dont je sais apprécier les sacrifices.” 

t “Colonel Michaud, n’oubliez pas ce que je vous dis ici: peut-étre qu'un 
jour nous nous ie rapellerons avec plaisir, Napoléon ou moi! Nous ne 


pouvons plus régner ensemble. J’ai appris a le connatire, il ne me tromperd 
plus.” 


WAR AND PEACE. 11 


Michaud, though a foreigner, yet a Russian in heart and 
soul, felt. at that solemn moment “enthousiasmé” by all that 
‘he had just heard (as he said afterwards), and in the expres- 
sions that followed, he uttered not only his own feelings but 
also the feelings of the Russian people, whose representative 
he considered himself : — 

“Sire!” said he, “your majesty at this moment seals the 
glory of the nation and the safety of Europe.” * 
_ The sovereign with an inclination of the head dismissed 
Michaud. 


| CHAPTER IV. 

, 

_ Ar the time when Russia was half conquered, and the in- 
habitants of Moscow were fleéing to distant provinces, and 
levy after levy of the landwehr was being raised for the de- 
fence of the fatherland, we, who were not alive at the time, 
mvoluntarily presuppose that all the men of Russia, from 
small to great, were solely occupied in sacrificing themselves 
‘D saving the country or in bewailing its ruin. 

_ Stories and descriptions of that period, all without excep- 
jon, speak of self-sacrifice, love for the fatherland, the des- 
eration, sorrow, and heroism of the Russians. 

In reality, this was not so at all. It merely seems so to us 
Tom the fact that we are occupied with the general historical 
nterest of the time and fail to see all those personal individ- 
tal interests which occupied private individuals. But, in real- 
ty, those personal interests seemed to the men of that day so 
auch more significant than the general interests, that the gen- 
‘ral interests were never felt at all, and were scarcely regarded. 
“he majority of the men of that time paid no attention at all 
Othe general course of events, and were merely guided by 
he personal interests of that present. And those very men 
vere the most important factors of that time. 

_ Those who strove to comprehend the general course of 
vents, and were anxious by their self-sacrifice and heroism to 
ike part in it, were the most useless members of society. 
whey saw everything in a wrong sense; and all that they did, 
1 spite of their good intentions, proved to be profitless waste, 
‘ke the regiments organized by Pierre and Mamonof, which 
illaged the Russian villages; or like the lint picked by high- 


* “ Sire, votre majesté signe dans ce moment la gloire de la nation et le salut 
‘2 VEurope.” 
A ‘ 
























12 WAR AND PEACE. 


born young ladies, which never reached the wounded, and 
So on. 

Even those who, in their fondness for subtilities and the ex 
pression of their feelings; talked about the actual state of 
Russia, involuntarily gave to their speeches the stamp of thei 
impressions, or pretences, or falsehoods, or profitless criticisms 
and animosities against men who were blamed for that for 
which no one could really be held responsible. 

In historical events more strictly than elsewhere holds 
the prohibition against tasting the fruit of the tree of knowl: 
edge. Only unconscious activity brings forth fruit, and a 
man who plays a part in any historical event never realizes 
its significance. If he tries to realize it, he is astounded b 
his barrenness. 

The significance of the event that took place at that tim 
in Russia was proportionately incomprehensible according tc 
the part which any man took in it. In Petersburg and the 
provinces remote from Moscow, ladies and men in militie 
uniforms mourned over Russia and the capital, and talkec 
about self-sacrifice and other such things; but in the army 
which was retreating from Moscow, almost nothing was saic 
or thought about Moscow; and as they looked at the com 
flagration no one dreamed of wreaking vengeance on the 
French, but they thought of the next quarter’s pay, about the 
next halting-place, about Matrioshka the sutling-wench,* anc 
the like. | 

Nikolai Rostof, without any pretence of self-sacrifice, bu 
fortuitously, the war having surprised him while he was stil 
in the service, took a genuine and continuous part in the de 
fence of his country, and accordingly looked without despai 
and without sombre forebodings on what was then happenin; 
in Russia. 

If any one had asked him what he thought about the cor 
dition of Russia at the time, he would have replied that 1 
wasn’t for him to think about it, that Kutuzof and the other 
were for that, but he had heard that more regiments wer 
mobilizing, and that there would be still more fighting, an 
that if nothing happened it would not be astonishing if in 
couple of years he were given a regiment. 

It was because he took this view of affairs that he ne 
only felt no compunction at being deprived of participation i: 
the last engagement, having received word that he was af 
pointed commander of a remount expedition to Vorone 


* Marketantka 


WAR AND PEACE. 13 


\fter horses for his division, but was even perfectly delighted, 
md took no pains to hide it from his comrades, who were 
jenerous enough to sympathize with him. 

__ A few days before the battle of Borodino, Nikolai received 
he money and the necessary papers, and, sending a hussar on 
m advance, he started for Voronezh by post relays. 

| Only a man who has experienced this, that is, who has 
‘pent several months in succession in the atmosphere of 
jailitary campaign life, can comprehend the delight which 
Mikolai experienced when he passed out of the circle beyond 
rhich there were no more foraging parties, provision trains, 
‘nd ambulances; when he ceased to see soldiers, army wagons, 
hhe dirty traces of a camp, and his eyes were greeted by 
fiNages with peasant men and women, with country land- 
‘olders, mansions, fields with pasturing cattle, post station- 
‘ouses with their sleepy agents, he felt such joy as though he 
aw it all for the first time in his life. 

| One thing especially kept him in a perpetual state of sur- 
mise and delight, and this was the sight of young and healthy 
omen, who did not each have a dozen officers tagging 
‘fter her all the time, and women who found it a flattering 
‘ovelty to have an officer, as he passed by, stop and chatter 
“ith them. 

‘In the most jovial frame of mind, Nikolai reached Voronezh 
‘evening, put up at the inn, ordered all that he had so long 
een lacking at the front, and on the next day, after getting 
clean shave, and putting on his long unused dress uniform, 
'@ went to pay his respects to the city officials. 

_ The commander of the landwehr was a civil general, an old 
ian who evidently took great delight in his military title and 
mk. He received Nikolai sternly, — thinking that this was 
toper in a military man of his importance, — and questioned 
‘im in a very significant way, approving or disapproving as 
‘ough it were his special prerogative, and as though he were 
‘te Judge of how the general course of the war was directed. 
| Nikolai was so happy that this merely amused him. 

) From the commander of the landwehr he went to the 
pvernor. The governor was a lively little man, very friendly 
id simple-hearted. He told Nikolai of several establish- 
ents where he might obtain horses, recommended to him a 
‘rse-dealer in the city and a landed proprietor twenty versts 
om the city, who kept good horses, and he promised him 
'y sort of co-operation. 

“Are you Count Ilya Andreyevitch’s son? My wife used 


———— 














14 WAR AND PEACE. 


to be very good friends with your matushka. On Thursdays 
I always have a reception: to-day is Thursday ; do me the 
favor to come informally,” said the governor as Nikolai took 
his leave. 

Immediately on leaving the governor’s, Nikolai took post | 
horses, and, accompanied by his quartermaster, drove rapidly 
the twenty versts so as to see the stud owned by the landed 
proprietor. ¢ 

Nikolai found everything jolly and comfortable during this | 
his first visit at Voronezh, and, as is usually the case when a 
man is in a good frame of mind, everything was easily and 
satisfactorily settled. 

The landed proprietor whom Nikolai went to see was an 
old bachelor, formerly a cavalryman, a connoisseur of horses, 
a huntsman, the master of spiced vodka* a hundred years 
old, of old Hungarian, and of marvellous horses. 

Nikolai, in two words, bought, for six thousand rubles, 
seventeen stallions, “assorted,” as he expressed it, “for the 
show pieces of his remount.” After a good dinner, and 
drinking considerable of admirable Hungarian, Rostof, ex- 
changing kisses with the proprietor, ‘with whom he was 
already on the most intimate terms of friendship, drove back 
over the horrible road (which, however, did not affect his 
spirits), constantly urging his yamshchik to do his very best 
to get him. back to the governor’s in time for the reception. 

Having changed his clothes, scented himself, and wet his 
hair down with cold water, Nikolai, though rather late, but 
with the proverb “ better late than never ” ready for use, ap- 
peared at the governor’s. 

It was not a ball, and it was not formally announced that 
there would be dancing; but Katerina Petrovna, as all knew, 
would play some valses and écossaises on the harpsichord, and 
there might be some dancing; and all the guests took this fox 
granted, and came in ball costumes. 

Provincial life in 1812 was pretty much the same as ever, 
with this sole difference, that it was unusually gay in the little 
city, owing to the presence of a number of wealthy families 
from Moscow, and to the fact that, as a general thing, at this 
time there was unprecedented luxury of living observable (the 
sea being but knee-deep to drunken men), while the small tal 
that is a necessity among people, and which, hitherto, 
been concerned merely with the weather and petty gossl 
now turned on the state of Moscow, the war, and Napoleon. 


* Zapekanka : vodka and honey boiled with spices. 









me 


WAR AND PEACE. 15 


¥ 
| 


The society that met at the governor’s was the best society 
of Voronezh. 

There were any number of ladies, there were several of 
Nikolai’s Moscow acquaintances; but there was not a man who 
could in any way compare with the Georgievsky cavalier, the 
gallant hussar, the good-natured, well-bred Count Rostof ! 

__ Among the men was an Italian, who had been an officer in 
the French army, and was now a prisoner, and Nikolai felt 
that this prisoner’s presence still further enhanced his conse- 
quence as a Russian hero. It wasakindof atrophy! Nikolai 
felt this, and it seemed to him that this was the way they all 
regarded the Italian, and so he treated him cordially, but with 
a certain dignity and reserve. 

_ As soon as Nikolai entered the room in his hussar’s uniform, 
diffusing around him an odor of perfumes and of wine, and he 
himself said, and heard others say, again and again, the words 
vaut mieux tard que jamais — better late than never, — he be- 
came the centre of the gathering; all eyes were fixed upon 
him, and he immediately felt that the position of general 
favorite, which he had taken in the province, was exceedingly 
appropriate to him, and pleasant, and, after such long depriva- 
tion, really intoxicating in its agreeableness. Not only at the 
post stations, the taverns, and the residence of the landed pro- 
prietor, were the servant maids flattered by his attentions, but 
here, at the governor’s reception, it seemed to Nikolai that 
sheve was an inexhaustible array of young married women and 
pretty girls who were impatient to have him give them a share 
of his attention. 

The ladies and young girls coquetted with him, and the old 
seople, from the very first moment, took it upon themselves 
0 find a wife for this mad-cap young hussar, and bring him to 
as senses. Among the latter was the governor’s wife her- 
self, who received Rostof hke a near relative, and called him 
‘Nicolas ” and addressed him with the familiar tui, “thou.” 

Katerina Petrovna, as was expected, began to play her valses 
md écossaises, and the dancing began, and, by his graces in this 
ecomplishment, Nikolai still more captivated all the govern- 
nental society. He surprised every one by his peculiarly free 
ind easy manner of dancing. Even Nikolai was somewhat sur- 
ised at himself by his manner of dancing that evening. He 
jad never danced so at Moscow, and he wou'd have been dis- 
»osed to call such extravagance of freedom unbecoming, and 
nauvais genre, had he not felt the necessity upon him of sur- 
orising them all by something extraordinary, something which 


16 WAR AND PEACE. 







they must be taught to regard as the proper thing in capital 
but as yet unknown in the provinces. 

All that evening, Nikolai devoted the most of his attention 
to a blue-eyed, plump and pretty little blonde, the wife of on 
of the governmental chinovniks. With that naive persuasio 
with which young men flatter themselves that other men’ 
wives were created especially for their diversion, Rosto 
staid by this lady, and treated her husband in a friendly 
somewhat conspiratical way, as though it were to be quit 
taken for granted, though as yet nothing had been said abou 
it, that they would get along splendidly, that is, Nikolai wit! 
this man’s wife! : 

The husband, however, it seemed, did not share in this per 
suasion, and did his best to treat Rostof with marked coldness 
But Nikolai’s unaffected frankness was so unbounded, tha 
more than once the husband was obliged, in spite of him, ti 
give way to Nikolai’s geniality. : 

Toward the end of the evening, however, in proportion ai 
his wife’s face grew more and more flushed and excited, he 
husband’s face grew ever more and more set and melancholy 
as though there were a common fund of vivacity shared b) 
the two so that in proportion as it waxed in the wife, it wane 
in the husband. 





: 
: 
CHAPTER V. : 

NrixKoxat, with a beaming smile on his lips, sat in his eas 
chair, leaning over as near as possible to the pretty blondink 
whispering mythological compliments into her ear. 

Briskly shifting his legs in their tight riding-trousers, ex 
haling the odor of perfumes, and contemplating his lady ans 
himself, and the handsome shape of his calves under his tog 
boots, Nikolai was telling the pretty blonde that, while he wa 
there at Voronezh, he intended to run away with a certau 
lady. 

“Who is she ?” ' 

“Charming, divine! Her eyes” (Nikolai looked closely a 
his neighbor) “are blue; her lips, coral; her complexion ” -- 
he gave a significant look at her shoulders — “her form 
Diana’s !” 

The husband rejoined them, and asked gloomily what sli 
was talking about. . 

“Ah! Nikita Ivanuitch,” exclaimed Nikolai, politely ns 


‘ 





WAR AND PEACE. iE 


ag. And, as though he were anxious for Nikita Ivanuitch to 
fare in his jokes, he confided to him his intention of eloping 
‘ath a certain pretty blonde. 

The husband smiled chillingly, the wife rapturously. The 
overnor’s worthy wife came up to them with a disapproving 
ok on her face. 

_“ Anna Ignatyevna is desirous of seeing you, Nicolas,” said 
ae, and by the tone in which she mentioned the name Anna 
gnatyevna, Rostof instantly realized that Anna Ignat- 
eyna was a very important individual. “Come, let us go, 
ficolas. You permit me to call you so, don’t you?” 

“Oh, yes, ma tante. But who is she ?” 

“Anna Ignatyevna Malvintseva. She had heard of you 
irough her niece; —how you rescued her!—Can you 
ess ? ” . 

“But I rescued so many there!” said Nikolai. 

“Her niece the Princess Bolkonskaya. She is here with 
er aunt in Voronezh. Oho! how he reddens! What does 
lat mean, now ? ” 

_“T could not imagine, — there, there, ma tante!” 
|“ Pretty good, pretty good! Oh, what a boy you are!” 

The governor’s wife led him to a tall and very stately old 
dy with a blue toque on her head, who had just finished a 
and at cards with the most consequential personages of the 
ty. This was Malvintseva, the Princess Mariya’s aunt on 
er mother’s side, a rich, childless widow, who had always 
ved in Voronezh. She stood settling her card account when 
ostof was brought to her. She was blinking her eyes with a 
‘ern and important expression, gave him a glance, and went 
1 berating the general who had won her money. 
“Very glad to see you, my dear,” said she, extending her 
md. <‘ Pray come and see me.” 
After speaking a few words about the Princess Mariya and 
late father, whom, evidently, Malvintseva had not loved, 
id asking a few questions as to what news Nikolai had to 
ve about Prince Andrei, who also seemed not to enjoy her 
od graces, she dismissed him, repeating her invitation to 
sit her. 

Nikolai promised, and again reddened as he took his leave 
‘the widow. 

At the remembrance of the Princess Mariya, Rostof expe- 
enced a feeling of bashfulness, even of fear, which he could 
ot understand. 

After leaving Malvintseva, Rostof intended to return te 
VOL. 4, — 2. 


18 WAR AND PEACE. 


the dancing again, but the little gubernatorsha laid her plump 
little hand on his sleeve and said that she wanted to have a 
talk with him, and led him into the divan-room, which was 
instantly evacuated by those who were in it and who did not 
want to be in her way. ) | 

“You must know, mon cher,” said the governor’s wife, with 
a serious expression on her good little face, “I have found 
exactly the right wife for you; do you want me to arrange 
the match ?” 

“Who is it, ma tante?” asked Nikolai. 

“T propose the princess. Katerina Petrovna advises Lili; 
but that’s not my idea—I say the princess. What do you 
say ? I am sure your maman would be very thankful. Truly, 
she is a charming girl, and, after all, she is not so very 

lain!” ! | 

“Indeed, she isn’t!” exclaimed Nikolai in an injured tone, | 
“ As for myself, ma tante, I do as a soldier should: I never 
intrude, and I never refuse anything,” said Nikolai, without | 
stopping to consider what reply he ought to make. 

“But remember! This is no joke.” 

‘What is no joke ?” 

“Yes, yes,” said the governor’s wife, as though speaking to 
herself. “And see here, mon cher, you are quite too atten- 
tive to that other lady, la blonde. Really, it’s pitiful, her 
husband ”? — 

“Oh, no; he and I are very good friends,” replied Nikolai, 
who, in his simplicity of soul, never once dreamed that such a 
jolly way of whiling away time could be aught else than jolly 
to any one. 

“What foolish nonsense did I speak to the governor's 
wife?” Nikolai suddenly asked himself while at supper. 
“ She is trying to make a match — but Sonya ? ”— 

And on bidding the governor’s wife good-night, when she 
with a smile said to him, “ Now remember ” — he drew her to 
one side. . 

“ Ma tante, 1 have something which I really ought to tell 

ou.” 

“ What can it be, my boy? Come in and let us sit down 
here.” 

Nikolai suddenly felt a desire and an irresistible impulse to 
confide in this almost perfect stranger all his private thoughts 
—thoughts which he would never have told his mother, his 
sister, his friend. Afterwards, when he remembered this out- 
burst of needless, inexplicable frankness, which nevertheless 


WAR AND PEACE. 19 


had very important consequences, it seemed to him as it. 
always seems to people —that he had acted very foolishly ; 
this outburst of frankness, together with other trivial cireum- 
stances, had for him and for his whole family portentous 
results. 

“This is what I mean, ma tante. Maman has fora long 
‘ime been anxious for me to marry a rich young lady. But 
she idea of marrying for money has always been extremely 
repugnant.” 

_ “Oh, yes, I understand,” assented the governor’s wife. 

“ But the Princess Bolkonskaya: that is another thing. In 
she first place, I will tell you honestly, she pleases me very 
nuch; I like her extremely. And besides, after meeting her 
nD such a way, in such a terrible position, the thought has 
often occurred to me that it was fate. You may remember, 
naman long, long ago thought about this, before I ever hap- 
sened to meet her, and somehow it happened so: we never 
net. And then when my sister Natasha was engaged to her 
srother, why, of course, then it became out of the question to 
shink of marrying her.* And now, just as Natasha’s engage- 
nent is broken off, it must needs happen that I meet her; 
well, it’s all — this is the trouble —I have never told any one 
bout this, and I don’t intend to. Only to you.” 

The governor’s wife gave his elbow an encouraging pressure. 

“You know Sophie, my cousin. I love her, and I have prom- 
‘sed to marry her and I shall marry her.— And so you see 
here is nothing to be said about this other matter,” explained 
Nikolai, incoherently and reddening. 

“Mon cher! mon cher! how can you have such ideas ? 
Why, you know Sophie has nothing, and you yourself have 
‘old me that your papa’s affairs were in a wretched state. 
{nd your maman? This would kill her surely! Then, 
sophie, if she is a girl with any heart, what a life it would 
ye for her! Your mother in despair, your property all dis- 
Ipated !— No, mon cher, you and Sophie must see things as 
hey are.” 

Nikolai made no reply. It was. pleasant for him to hear 
his reasoning. | 

“Still, ma tante, this cannot be,” said he with a sigh, after 
ome little silence. “Then, do you suppose the princess 
yould marry me? and besides she is in mourning. How can 
‘uch a thing be thought of ?” 


. * The marriage sacrament according to the Greek Church makes mar- 
lage relationship blood relationship. 


20) WAR AND PEACE. 


“ What? do you suppose I would have you marry her in- 
stantly? IZ y a maniére et maniére!” said the governor’s 
wife. 7 

“What a match-maker, ma tante/” said Nikelai, kissing 
her plump hand.’ | 


CHAPTER VI. 


Tur Princess Mariya, on arriving at Moscow after her 
meeting with Rostof, found there her nephew and his tutor, 
and a letter from Prince Andrei, who enjoined upon them to 
go to Voronezh, to her aunt Malvintseva. 

The labors consequent upon this move, her anxiety for her 
brother, the regulation of her life in her new home, new ac- 
quaintances, the education of her nephew, —all this tended 
to quench in the Princess Mariya’s heart that seductive long- 
ing which had tormented her during her father’s illness, and 
after his death, and especially after her meeting with Rostof. 

She was unhappy. 

The impression of her father’s loss, associated in her mind 
as it was with the ruin of Russia, now, after a month spent 
in the conditions of a calm, equable life, grew more and more 
vivid to her. She was anxious; the thought of the perils to 
which her brother was exposed —the only man who was 
closely related to her — constantly tormented her. 

She was occupied with the instruction of her nephew, but 
she felt all the time that she was peculiarly unfitted for 1t. 
Nevertheless in the depths of her soul there was a certain 
sense of quietude arising from the consciousness that she had 
erushed out the personal hopes and dreams that had sprung 
up in her heart, and were connected with the appearance of 
Rostof. ‘ 

When, on the day following her reception, the governor’s 
wife went to call upon Malvintseva, after a private conversa- 
tion with her in regard to her scheme (making the reservation 
that, though under present circumstances it was impossible to 
think of a formal courtship, still the young people might be 
brought together and made acquainted), and when, after re- 
ceiving the aunt’s approval, the gubernatorsha spoke in the 
Princess Mariya’s presence of Rostof, praised him, and told. 
how he had reddened at the mere mention of the princess’s 
name, the Princess Mariya experienced a feeling not of 
pleasure but of pain; her inward calm had entirely vanished, 


WAR AND PEACE. 21 


and again arose her desires, doubts, self-reproaches, and 
hopes. 

During the two days that intervened between hearing this 
news and her interview with Restof, the Princess Mariya did 
not cease to think how it behooved her to behave toward him. 
At one moment she made up her mind that she would not go 
into the drawing-room when he came to call upon her aunt, 
that it was not becoming for her to receive callers when she 
was in deep mourning; then again she thought that it would 
be rude after all that he had done for her; then it occurred to 
her that the governor’s wife and her aunt must have some 
designs on her and Rostof —their glances, and certain words 
that they had dropped, it seemed to her, confirmed this sup- 
position — then she said to herself that nothing but her inborn 
depravity made her have such thoughts; they could not help 
remembering that, in her situation, she not having yet taken 
off her “ weepers,’’ — such a wooing would be an insult to her, 
‘as well as to her father’s memory. 

Assuming that she should go down to meet him, the Prin- 
cess Mariya tried to imagine the words which he would say 
to her, and which she should say to him, and at one moment 
these words seemed undeservedly cold, at the next they 
seemed to possess too great significance. 

More than all else she was apprehensive that on meeting 
him she should show that bashfulness which she was certain 
would take possession of her, and betray her as soon as she 
saw him. | ; 

But when on Sunday, after mass, the lackey announced at 
the drawing-room door that Count Rostof had come, the 
princess showed no symptoms of confusion; only a faint 
tinge of color suffused her cheeks, and her eyes shone with a 
new, luminous light. 

“You have seen him, auntie ? ” * asked the Princess Mariya 
in a tranquil voice, surprised herself that she could be out- 
wardly so calm and natural. 

When Rostof entered the room, the princess for a moment 
dropped her head, as though for the purpose of allowing the 
guest time to exchange greetings with her aunt, and then at 
the very moment that Nikolai came toward her, she raised 
her head, and with radiant eyes met his glance. 

With a movement full of grace and dignity, she arose with 
a joyful smile, offered him her slender, delicate hand, and 
Spoke to him in a voice which for the first time vibrated 
with new, womanly, hearty tones. 

* Tidtushka: diminutive of tiotta, 


yy WAR AND PEACE. 


Mlle. Bourienne, who happened to be in the drawing-room, 
looked at the Princess Mariya in wonder and perplexity. She 
herself, though a most accomplished coquette, could not have 
manceuvred better on meeting a man whom she wished to 
fascinate. , 

‘Hither black is becoming to her, or really she has grown 
pretty; I certainly never remarked it so before,” said Mlle. 
Bourienne to herself. 

If the Princess Mariya had been in a position to think at 
that moment, she would have been even more amazed than 
was Mlle. Bourienne at the change that had taken place in 
her. From the instant that she saw that kind face so beloved, 
a new power of life took possession of her, and compelled her, 
irrespective of her own will, to speak and to act. Her face from 
that moment that Rostof entered was suddenly transformed. 

Just as the complicated artistic work on the sides of a 
painted or carved lamp comes out with sudden and unex- 
pected details of beauty when a light is kindled within, though 
before it had seemed coarse, dark, and meaningless, so was the 
Princess Mariya’s face unexpectedly transformed. For the first: 
time all that pure, spiritual, inward travail which she had gone 
through for so many years was laid open to the ight. AI that, 
inward travail, which had left her so dissatisfied with her- 
self, — her suffering, her yearnings after the right, her sub- 
mission, love, self-sacrifice, —all this now shone forth in those 
luminous eyes, in her gentle smile, in every feature of her 
tender face. | 3 

Rostof saw all this so clearly that it seemed to him he had 
known her all his life. He felt that the being before him 
was different, was better than all that he had hitherto met, 
and, what was more important, was better than himself. 

Their conversation was extremely simple and insignificant. 
They talked about the war, involuntarily, like every one else, 
exaggerating their grief at the event; they talked about theix 
last meeting, whereupon Nikolai tried to turn the conversa- 
tion to something else; they talked about the good guberna- 
torsha, about their respective parents. 

The Princess Mariya did not speak of her brother, deflect- 
ing the subject to another topic as soon as her aunt spoke 
about Andrei. It was evident that, while there might be some 
pretence in her expressions of grief in the miseries of Russia, 
her brother was an object too near to her heart, and she 
would not and could not talk about him. Nikolai remarked 
this, for, with a keenness of observation that was not at all 


WAR AND PEACE. 23 


‘characteristic of him, he remarked all the little shades of the 
'princess’s nature to the effect of. greatly intensifying his con- 
'viction that she was a being entirely out of the common. 
Nikolai, exactly the same as the princess, had changed color 
when her name was mentioned in his presence, and even 
when he thought about her; but in her presence he felt per- 
fectly unhampered, and by no means confined himself to the 
set speeches which he had made ready in advance, but spoke 
whatever came into his head. 

During Nikolai’s short call there were, as always happens 
where a number of people are together, moments of silence, 
and during one of these Nikolai made up to Prince Andrei’s 
little son, petted him, and asked him if he would like to be 
ahussar. He took hold of the boy’s hands, spun him around 
and glanced at the Princess Mariya. Her tender, happy, and 
timid eyes followed the little lad whom she loved while he 
was in the arms of the man whom she loved. Nikolai also 
remarked this look, and, as though he understood its signifi- 
cance, he flushed with gratification, and with good-natured 
jollity began to kiss the little fellow. 


The Princess Mariya, owing to her mourning, was not going 
nto society, and Nikolai felt that it was unbecoming for him 
i0 repeat his call upon them; but the governor’s wife, never- 
theless, continued her task of match-maker, and, while she 
j0ok occasion to repeat to Nikolai all the flattering things that 
ihe Princess Mariya had said about him, and vice versa, she 
nsisted that he should declare himself to the princess. 

In order to bring about this explanation, she arranged a meet- 
‘ng between the young people at the archbishop’s, before mass. 

Although Rostof had told the governor’s wife that he would 
1ot come to any explanation with the princess, still he prom- 
‘sed to. be present. 

_ Just as at Tilsit he had not allowed himself to doubt 
vhether what had been enjoined upon all was good or not, 
‘0 now, after a short but genuine struggle between his wish 
0 arrange his life in his own way and a peaceful submission 
‘0 circumstances, he chose the latter alternative, and gave 
‘amself up to that power which, as he could not help feeling, 
‘Vas irresistibly drawing him away, he knew not whither. He 
‘new that, having plighted his troth to Sonya, if he confessed 
4s feelings for the Princess Mariya, it would be nothing else 
‘han base. And he knew that he would never do anything 
Jase. But he knew also (not so much knew it as felt it in 


| 
; 


24 WAR AND PEACE. 


the depths of his heart) that if he gave himself up into the 
control of men and of circumstances and let them guide him, | 
he not only would do nothing wrong, but would rather do 
something very, very important, so important that nothing like 
it would ever again recur to him in his lite. 

After his meeting with the Princess Mariya, although his 
manner of life continued to be the same outwardly, still all 
his former pleasures lost for him their zest, and he frequently 
found himself thinking of the Princess Mariya; but he never 
thought of her as he had always, without exception, thought 
of the various young ladies whom he had met in society, nor 
even as he had for long and sometimes even enthusiastically 
thought of Sonya. : 

Like almost every pure young man, when he thought about 
any béruishnya as his possible wife, he strove to make her fit the 
condition of marital existence, as he imagined it — the white 
capote, the wife behind the samovar, his wife’s carriage, wee 
bits of children, maman and papa, their relations to her, and 
so forth, and so forth; and these representations of the future 
gave him pleasure. 

But when he thought about the Princess Mariya, whom 
they were trying to make a wife for him, he could not make 
the representations of his future married life in any way con- 
crete. Even when he tried everything seemed incoherent and 
false. All that remained in his mind was a kind of dread. 


CHAPTER VII. 


Tux terrible news of the battle of Borodino, of our losses 
in dead and wounded, and the still more terrible tidings of the 
loss of Moscow, were received in Voronezh toward the end oi 
September. 

The Princess Mariya, learning only from the bulletin thati 
her brother was wounded, and having no definite information 
about him, determined to go in search of him. This was what 
Nikolai heard. He himself had not seen her again. | 

On learning of the battle of Borodino and the abandonmens 
of Moscow, Nikolai, while not giving himself up to feelings 
of despair, anger, or desire for vengeance or the like, still sud- 
denly began to feel bored and out of place at Voronezh; his 
conscience almost reproached him, and he felt awkward. All 
the talk that he heard seemed to him hypocritical; he knew 
not what judgment to pass upon events, and he was conscious 


WAR AND PEACE. oo 


that not until he returned to his regiment would things 
become clear to him again. He made haste to accomplish 
his purchase of horses, and oftentimes without any just cause 
became impatient with his servant and the quartermaster. 

Several days before Rostof’s departure, a solemn service 
‘was held in the cathedral, in honor of the victory that had 
been won by the Russian troops, and Nikolai was present. He 
was standing a little behind the governor, and, with a gravity 
‘worthy of the occasion, was thinking of the most varied sub- 
jects, even while he listened to the service. When the Te 
Deum was ended, the governor’s wife called him to her. 

“Have you seen the princess?” she asked, with her head 
‘Indicating a lady in black who stood behind the choir. 

Nikolai instantly recognized the Princess Mariya, not so 
much by her profile, a glimpse of which could be seen under 
her hat, as by that feeling of shyness, fear, and pity which 
instantly came over him. The Princess Mariya, evidently 
absorbed in her thoughts, was crossing herself for the last 
time before she should leave the church. 

Nikolai looked into her face with amazement. It was the 
‘same face which he had seen before, there was the same gen- 
eral expression of gentle, inward, spiritual travail; but now 
it was lighted up by a very different sort of light. It had 
a touching expression of sorrowfulness, entreaty, and hope. 

As had been the case with Nikolai before when he was in 
her presence, he, without waiting for the gubernatorsha’s 
advice to join her, without asking himself whether it were 
right or proper for him to address her there in the church, 
instantly went to her and said that he had heard of her sor- 
tow, and that he sympathized with her with all his heart. 
She had hardly caught the first sound of his voice, when sud- 
denly a bright light flashed into her face, giving witness at 
one and the same time of her sorrow and her joy. 

“I only wanted to tell you this, princess,” said Rostof, 
“that if Prince Andrei Nikolayevitch were not alive, it would 
be instantly announced in the bulletins, since he is a regimen- 
tal commander.” 

_ The princess looked at him, not comprehending his words, 
but delighting in the expression of sympathy and sorrow in 
his face. 

“And I have known so many cases where a wound caused 
oy a splinter (and the bulletins would say a shell) was either 
fatal immediately, or, if not, very trifling,” said Nikolai. 
“You must hope for the best, and I am. certain” — 


26 ' WAR AND PEACE. 


The Princess Mariya interrupted him, — 

“Oh, this would be so hor” — she began, but her emotion 
overmastered her, and, without completing the word, she bent 
her head with a graceful motion (like everything that she did 
in his presence), and, giving him a grateful look, rejoined her 
aunt. 7 

The evening of that same day, Nikolai accepted no engage- 
ments out, but remained at his lodgings in order to square up 
certain accounts with the horse-dealers. 

Having completed his business, it being too late to go any- 
where, but too early to retire for the night, Nikolai long 
walked up and down his solitary room, thinking over his life, 
which was an unusual thing for him to do. 

The Princess Mariya had produced upon him an agreeable 
impression when he saw her near Smolensk. The fact that he 
had met her then in sueh extraordinary circumstances, and 
that she was the very one whom his mother had once recom- 
mended to him as an eligible -heiress, caused him to regard 
her with peculiar interest. 

When he came to see her again at Voronezh, this impression 
was not only agreeable but it was powerful. Nikolai was 
struck by that peculiar moral beauty which he for the first 
time observed in her. 

He was ready to take his departure, however, and it had 
not occurred to him to regret the fact that in leaving Voronezh. 
he was depriving himself of the chance of seeing the prin- 
cess. But his meeting with her that morning at church. 
(Nikolai was conscious of it) had sunk deeper into his heart 
than he could have foreseen, and deeper than he would have 
wished for his peace of mind. 

That pale, gentle, sorrowful face, those luminous eyes, those 
quiet, graceful movements, and, above all, that profound andl 
sweet expression of sorrow pervading all her being, troubled 
him and aroused his sympathy. 

Rostof could not endure to see in men the expression of a 
lofty spiritual life—that was the reason he did not like 
Prince Andrei—he scornfully called it philosophy, day- 
dreaming ; but in the Princess Mariya, especially in that sor- 
row which brought forth all the depth of that spiritual world 
so marvellous to Rostof, he felt an irresistible attraction. ~ 

“She must be a marvellous girl! <A real angel!” said he 
to himself. “Why am I not free? Why was I in such haste 
with regard to Sonya?” | 

And involuntarily he began to institute a comparison 


WAR AND PEACE. ; rare 


between the two: the poverty in one, the abundance in the 
other of those spiritual gifts which Nikolai himself had not, 
and which therefore he prized so highly. 

He tried to imagine what would be if he had been free. 

How would he have made his proposal to her, and if she had 
become his wife! But no, he could not imagine it. 
_ A strange feeling of dread came over him, and nothing clear 
presented itself to his imagination. Now he had long ago 
formulated the picture of his future with Sonya, and it was 
all clear and simple, for the reason that it had been thought 
out, and he knew all that was in Sonya; but it was impossible 
to formulate any scheme of life with the Princess Mariya, 
because he did not understand her, but only loved her. 

His visions of Sonya had something about them that was 
jolly and frivolous. But it was always hard and rather terrible 
to think of Princess Mariya. 

“ How she was praying!” he mused, following his recollec- 
tions. “It was evident her whole soul was in her prayer. 
Yes, that is the prayer that removes mountains, and I am sure 
that her prayer will be fulfilled. Why cannot I pray for what 
Ineed?” he asked himself. “What do I need? My free- 
dom, to be released from Sonya.— She said what was true,” 
he was recalling the gubernatorsha’s words —“‘ Nothing but 
misfortune would come of my marrying her.’ Confusion, grief 
to maman — business —confusion, terrible confusion! Yes, 
and I don’t love her. I don’t love her as I ought. My God! 
save me from this terrible, inextricable muddle!” he began, 
trying to offera prayer. “Yes, prayer moves the mountain, 
but faith is needful, and to pray as Natasha and I used to 
pray when we were children, that the snow would change into 
sugar, and then run out of doors to see whether our prayer was 
mswered. No, but I cannot pray about trifles now,” said he, 
as he laid his pipe down in the corner, and, folding his hands, 
stood in front of the holy pictures. And, touched by his recol- 
ection of the Princess Mariya, he began to pray as he had not 
grayed for along, long time. The tears were standing in his 
xyes and swelling his throat when Lavrushka suddenly came 
nwith documents in his hand. “Idiot —durdk !— what do 
rou come sneaking in for when you weren’t called ?” exclaimed 
Nikolai, abruptly changing his position. 

_ “From the governor,” said Lavrushka, in a sleepy voice — 
‘a courier came; letter for you.” 

“All right, thanks! Begone!” 

_ Nikolai had two letters. One was from his mother, the 


28 WAR AND PEACE. 




















other from Sonya. He recognized them by their handwriting, 
and he opened Sonya’s first. He had only read a few lines 
when his face grew pale and his eyes opened wide in terror 
and delight. 

“No, it cannot be!” he exclaimed aloud. He could not si 
still, but with the letter in his hand began to pace the room. 
He glanced through the letter, then read it once and a second 
time, and, shrugging his shoulders and opening out his hands, 
he stood still in the middle of the room with open mouth and 
set eyes. 

The very thing which he had just been praying for with the 
faith that God would fulfil his prayer was granted; but 
Nikolai was amazed by this, as though it had been something 
extraordinary, and as though he had never expected it, and as 
though the very shing which had so quickly eventuated proved 
that this had come, not by the will of God, to whom he had 
offered his petition, but from ordinary chance. 

This apparently unsolvable knot which fettered Rostof’s 
freedom was cut by this letter from Sonya—so unexpected 
(as it seemed to Nikolai) and unsolicited. She wrote that 
the recent unfortunate events, the loss of almost all the Ros- 
tofs’ property in Moscow, and the more than once expressec| 
desire of the countess that Nikolai should marry Princess 
Bolkonskaya, and his own silence and coldness of late, —all 
taken together had caused her to decide to release him from 
his promise and give him perfect freedom. 

“Tt was too trying for me to think that I might be a source 
of sorrow or dissension in a family which has loaded me with 
benefits,” she wrote. “And my love has for its one single 
aim the happiness of those whom I love. And therefore [ 
beseech you, Nicolas, to consider yourself perfectly free, and 
to know that, in spite of all, no one could love you more truly 
than your Sonya.” 

This letter was written from Troitsa. 

The second letter was from the countess. In this there was 
given a full description of the last days in Moscow, their 
departure, the fire, and the loss of all their property. In this 
letter also, among other things, the countess wrote that Prince 
Andrei was among the wounded whom they had brought away 
with them. His position was very critical, but now the doctor 
fleclared that there was more hope. Sonya and Natasha were 
ttending him as watchers. 

Dn the following day, Nikolai took this letter, and went t 
see the Princess Mariya. Neither Nikolai nor the princess 


“WAR AND PEACE. 29 


said a word as to the significance of the fact that Natasha 
Was attending the sufferer; but, thanks to this letter, Nikolai 
suddenly felt drawn closer to the princess, almost as though 
he were a relative. 

_ On the next day, Rostof escorted the Princess Mariya to 
Yaroslavl, and not long after rejoined his regiment. 


CHAPTER VIBE. 


Sonya’s letter to Nikolai, coming so opportunely in answer 
so his prayer, had been written from Troitsa (Trinity). 
| This was the way it happened. 

__ The old countess had become more and more occupied by 
she idea of Nikolai marrying a rich wife. She knew that 
Sonya was the chief obstacle in the way of this. And Sonya’s 
ufe in the countess’s home had been made more and more try- 
mg of late, especially since Nikolai wrote of meeting the 
Princess Mariya at Bogucharovo. 

| The countess lost no opportunity of addressing Sonya with 
‘nsulting or cruel insinuations. 

A few days before their departure from Moscow, however, 
ihe countess, exacerbated and excited by all that was happen- 
ng, had called Sonya to her, and, instead of loading her with 
‘eproaches and demands, had begged her with tears in her 
xyes to have pity on her, and, as a return for all that had been 
lone for her, to release Nikolai from his engagement. 

“JT shall never be content until you have given me this 
yromise.” 

Sonya sobbed hysterically, promised through her sobs that 

ihe would do anything, that she was ready for any sacrifice ; 
yut she did not give the promise in so many words, and in her 
eart she found it impossible to consent to do what they 
equired of her. It was necessary for her to sacrifice herself 
‘or the happiness of the family which had fed and educated 
1er. 
' To sacrifice herself for the happiness of others was second 
jature to Sonya. Her position in the household was such 
hat it was only on the road of sacrifice that she could show 
‘ter worth, and she was accustomed to sacrifice herself, and 
oved to do so. 

But hitherto, in all her acts of self-sacrifice, she had enjoyed 
he pleasant consciousness that in thus sacrificing herself, she 
‘vas by this very act enhancing her value in her own eyes and 


30 WAR AND PEACE. 


the eyes of others, and was becoming more worthy of Nicolas, 
whom she loved above all else in the world. 

But now her sacrifice was to consist in renouncing all that 
had promised to be the reward of her sacrifice, the whole 
meaning of life. And for the first time in her life she had 
bitter feelings against those very people who had loaded her 
with benefits only to torment her the more. She began to hate 
Natasha, who had never been called upon to experience any 
such trial, who had never been required to sacrifice herself, | 
but who had obliged others to sacrifice themselves for her, | 
and yet was loved by all. : 

And for the first time Sonya felt that her gentle, pure love 
for Nicolas was growing into a passion which was mightier 
than law and virtue and religion, and it was under the influ- 
ence of this feeling that Sonya, who had been involuntarily 
taught by her life of dependence to be reserved, replied to the 
countess in general, indefinite terms, avoided having anything 
further to say to her, and made up her mind to wait until she 
should see Nikolai again, with the idea, not of giving him his 
freedom, but, on the contrary, of binding him to her forever. 

The labors and terror incident to those last days that the_ 
Rostofs spent in Moscow put out of mind the gloomy thoughts 
that had been weighing her down. She was glad to find an 
escape from them in practical activity. But when she learned | 
of Prince Andrei’s presence in the house, notwithstanding 
the genuine pity which she felt for him and for Natasha, she 
was seized by a blithe and superstitious presentiment that God 
did not wish her to be separated from Nicolas. : 

She knew that Natasha had never loved any one beside 
Prince Andrei, and that she still loved him. She knew that, 
now being brought together in such terrible circumstances, 
their mutual affection would be renewed, and that then it 
would be impossible for Nikolai to marry the Princess Mariya, 
on account of the relationship which would be entailed upon 
them. Notwithstanding the horror of all that had taken. 
place during the last days and during the early part of their 
journey, this feeling, this consciousness of the interference of 
Providence in her personal affairs, had rejoiced Sonya’s heart. 

The Rostofs made their first halt at the Troitskaya Lavra 
or Trinity Monastery. 

At the hostelry of the Lavra, the Rostofs were assignerl 
three large rooms, one of which was taken by Prince Andrei. 
The wounded man that day was much better. Natasha had 
been sitting with him. In the adjoining room were the count 








WAR AND PEACE. 31 


and countess engaged in a polite conversation with the father 
superior, who had come to pay his respects to his old acquaint- 
‘ances and benefactors. Sonya was also sitting with them and 
was tormented by curiosity as to what Prince Andrei and 
Natasha were talking about; for she could hear the sounds of 
their voices, the door of Prince Andrei’s room having been left 
open. Natasha with agitated face came running out, and not 
heeding the monk, who arose to meet her and offered her his 
tight hand under his flowing sleeve, went straight to Sonya, 
and took her by the arm. 

“Natasha! what is the matter? Come here!” said the 
countess. 

_ Natasha submitted to the priest’s blessing, and the father 
superior advised her to go for help to God and his saint. 

As soon as the father superior was gone, Natasha took her 
cousin’s hand, and drew her into the empty room. 

“Sonya! Do you think he is going to live? Say yes!” 
said she. “Sonya! How happy I am, and how unhappy! 
Sonya darling,* but it is all just as it used to be. If only he 
would live !—he can’t get well, — because — be—cause ” — 
And Natasha burst into tears. ; 

“Yes! he will. I have been sure of it! Glory to God! 
He will get well!” ) 

Sonya was no less agitated than Natasha, not alone because 
of her friend’s suffering and sorrow, but also because of her 
Ywn private thoughts, which she shared with no one. Sob- 
ding, she kissed Natasha, and tried to soothe her. 

“Tf only he would get well!” she said to herself. Having 
tad a good cry and a talk together, and wiping away their 
ears, the two friends went to Prince Andrei’s door. Natasha, 
varefully opening it, glanced into the room. Sonya stood next 
1er at the half-opened door. » 

Prince Andrei lay bolstered up high on three pillows. His 
white face was calm, his eyes closed, and apparently he was 
reathing regularly. 

““Akh! Natasha!” Sonya almost screamed, suddenly seiz- 
ng her cousin’s hand, and starting away from the door. 

_ “What — what is it?” asked Natasha. ? 

“Let me tell you! this—this!” said Sonya, with pallid 
ace and trembling lips. 
| Natasha gently closed the door, and went with Sonya to the 
vindow, no longer remembering what had been said to her. 
"Do you remember,” began Sonya, in a frightened and 


| * Golubchik. 







32 WAR AND PEACE. 


solemn voice, —“do you remember when I looked for you 
at the mirror —at Otradnoye, on Twelfth Night? Do yo 
remember what I saw ?” — 

“Yes, yes,” replied Natasha, opening her eyes wide, anc 
having a dim remembrance that at that time Sonya had saic 
something about Prince Andrei, whom she claimed to have 
seen lying down. | 

“Do you remember?” continued Sonya: “I saw then anc 
told you all—you and Dunyasha. I saw him lying on : 
bed,” said’ she, at every detail waving her hand with out 
stretched finger, “and his eyes were closed, and he was Cov 
ered with a pink spread, and his arms were folded,” pursuec 
Sonya, convinced that all these details, which she had jus’ 
before seen, were the very same that she had seen at thai 
time. 
Really, at that time she had seen nothing, but she hac 
related as having seen what first entered her mind; but whai 
she had imagined then seemed to her the reality, like an) 
other remembrance. What she had said then about his look 
ing at her and smiling, and being covered with something blu 
and red, she did not remember, but was firmly persuaded tha: 
she had then said and seen how he was covered with some 
thing pink, indeed a pink coverlet, and that his eyes wert 
closed ! | 

“Yes, yes, certainly it was pink,” said Natasha, who also a’ 
the present time remembered that the color mentioned hac 
been pink, and in this fact she found the chief wonder anc 
mystery of the prediction. : 

“But what does this mean?” queried Natasha, thought 
fully. 

«Oh, ’m sure I don’t know! How extraordinary it all is!’ 
exclaimed Sonya, clasping her head with her hands. | 

In a few minutes, Prince Andrei rang, and Natasha went t¢ 
him; but Sonya, experiencing an emotion and excitement sucl 
as she had rarely experienced, still stood by the window, think 
ing over all the strangeness of what had happened. + 


There ,happened to be on that day an opportunity to senc 
letters to the army, and the countess was writing to her son, » 
“ Sonya,” said the countess, lifting her head from her letter 
as her niece passed her,—‘“ Sonya, won’t you write Niko 
lenka ?” asked the countess, in a gentle, trembling voice ; ant 
by the look in her weary eyes, which the countess gave he 
over her spectacles, Sonya read what she meant by those 
: 





WAR AND PEACE. 83 


vords. In that look was expressed a prayer, and fear of a 
‘efusal, and shame that she was obliged to ask such a thing, 
ind readiness for implacable hatred in case of refusal. 

| Sonya went to the countess, and, kneeling down beside her, 
tissed her hand. 

'“T will write,” said she. 

Sonya was softened, excited, and touched by all that had 
lappened on that day, especially by the mysterious coinci- 
ence of the divination which she had just seen. Now, when 
he knew that, in case of Natasha’s engagement to Prince 
indrei being renewed, Nikolai could not marry Princess 
fariya, she had a sense of joy in the return of this condition 
f self-sacrifice in which she was in the habit of living. And 
nth tears in her eyes and with a blissful consciousness of hav- 
ag accomplished a magnanimous action, she, though several 
mes interrupted by the tears which clouded her velvety dark 
yes, wrote the touching letter, the receipt of which had so 
mazed Nikolai. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Ar the guard-house where Pierre was conducted, the officer 

ad soldiers who had him in charge treated him like an 
aemy, but at the same time with consideration. In their | 
‘eatment of him there seemed to be some suspicion that he 
ught prove to be a man of very great importance, and the 
afriendliness was due only to the remembrance of the 
tuggle which they had just had with him. 
But on the following morning, when the guard was relieved, 
lerre was made aware that for the new guard — officers and 
en alike —he had not that importance which he had enjoyed 
ith those who captured him. And indeed this great, portly 
an, in peasant’s kaftan, the new guards did not know as that 
vely man who had fought so desperately with the marauder 
id with the horse patrol, and had spoken that solemn phrase 
out the saving of the child, but they saw in him merely No. 
‘of the Russian prisoners who had been taken and held by 
der of men high in command. 
‘If there had been anything special about Pierre, his appear- 
‘ce, devoid of timidity, and full of intense, concentrated 
ought, the perfection with which he expressed himself in 
2gant French, to the amazement of the men, would have 
en sufficient. “N evertheless, on this day Pierre was put in 
‘ VoL. 4.—8. 


84 WAR AND PEACE. 


with the other suspects that had been captured, for the reason | 
that the special room which had been given him first was 
required by the officer. 

All the Russians locked in with Pierre were men of the 
very lowest station. And all of them, recognizing that Pierre 
was a barin, shunned him, and all the more from the fact that 
he spoke French. Pierre felt a sense of melancholy as he 
listened to their sarcasms at his expense. , 

On the evening of that day Pierre learned that all these 
prisoners (and apparently he himself in the number) were to 
be tried for incendiarism. On the third day Pierre and the 
rest were conducted to a house where were a French general 
with a white mustache, two colonels, and several other French- 
men with chevrons on their arms. | 

Pierre, the same as the rest, was subjected to a series of 
questions, — Who was he 2? Where had he been ? — What 
purpose ? and so forth — put with that shrewdness and pre- 
cision that affect to be superior to all human weaknesses and. 
are characteristic of all ordinary dealings with prisoners at the 
bar. 

These questions, making no account of the essence of the 
fact at issue, and presupposing the impossibility of getting at 
the truth, were like all questions put at legal examinations, 
having for their object the laying-down of a sort of gutter. in 
which examiners wish the answers of the victim to trickle so 
that he may be brought to the requisite point; namely, in- 
crimination ! 

The moment he began to make any remark that did not 
satisfy this end, the “gutter” was applied, and the water made 
to flow in' the desired direction. 

Moreover, Pierre experienced what is always experienced 
by men on trial: a sense of perplexity, of wonder why sueli 
and such questions are asked. He had a feeling that it was 
only out of condescension, or, possibly, courtesy, that the ex- 
pedient of the question-gutter was made use of. He knew 
that he was tin the power of these men, that it was merely 
brute force that had brought him where he was, that only 
might * gave them the right to demand of him answers to 
their questions, that the sole aim of this court was to prove 
him guilty. 

And therefore, as they had the power and the desire to com 
vict him, there was no need of the expedient of the interroga 





* The simple style of the original is shown by the fact that one word — 
vlast’ — stands for power, brute force and might. 


WAR AND PEACE. 35 


ory and the court. It was evident that all his answers were 
aken as proof of his guilt. 

To the question what he was doing when he was arrested, 
‘erre replied with a certain tragic force that he was re- 
toring to its parents a child that he had rescued from the 
ames — qwil avait sauvé des flammes. 

Why had he fought with the marauder? Pierre replied 
hat he was protecting a woman, that the defence of an in- 
ulted woman was the duty of every man, that — 

He was interrupted: this was irrelevant. 

Why had he been in the yard of the burning building, 
rhere the witnesses had seen him ? 

' He replied that he had gone out to see what was happening 
a Moscow. 

' He was again interrupted: he had not been asked where 
e was going, but why he was in the vicinity of the fire. 
Who was he? they asked, reiterating their first question, 
nd he replied that he would not divulge his name. 

| “Write that down; it looks bad. Very bad,” sternly said 
he white-mustachioed general with a florid complexion. 

On the fourth day fires broke out on the Zubovsky Val. 
Pierre and thirteen others were removed to the Kruimsky 
rod or Crimean Ford and placed in the coach-house of a mer- 
hant’s mansion. As they were marched along the streets, 
jerre was suffocated by the smoke, which seemed to him to 
ie settled down over the whole city. In various directions 
ires could be seen. Not even then did Pierre understand the 
ignificance of the burning of Moscow, and he looked upon 
hese fires with horror. 

In the coach-house of this solitary mansion by the Kruimsky 
srod, Pierre spent four days more, and during this time he 
earned, from the talk of the French soldiers, that the decision 
if the marshal regarding the prisoners confined there was ex- 
rected each day. 

Pierre could not learn from the soldier what marshal it 
vas. Evidently, for the soldier the term marshal connoted 
ome elevated and mysterious link in the chain of power. 

These days up till the twentieth of September, on which 
he prisoners were put through a second examination, were 
very trying for Pierre. 


36 WAR AND PEACE. 


CHAPTER X._ 





On the twentieth of September, an officer of very great 
importance, to judge by the respect shown him by the guards, 
came into the coach-house to see the prisoners. This officer, 
who apparently belonged to Napoleon’s staff, had a list in his 
hand, and called a roll of all the Russians, designating Pierre 
as celui qui n’avoue pas son nom—the man who refuses to 
give his name. 

Surveying the prisoners with a look of lazy indifference, he’ 
ordered the officer of the guard to see that they were decently! 
clad and ordered before they were brought into the marshal’s| 
presence. 

Within an hour, a file of soldiers appeared, and Pierre and 
thirteen others were taken out to the Dievitchye Pole.* 

It was a bright, sunny day after rain, and the air was 
extraordinarily clear. The smoke did not hang \ow, as it had 
on that day when Pierre was removed from the watch-house of 
the Zabovsky Val. It rose in columns in the clear atmos- 
phere. No flames were visible, but on all sides arose these 
columns of smoke, and all Moscow, so far as Pierre could see, 
was one vast conflagration. On all sides were ruins, with) 
stoves and chimneys, and here and there the devastated walls| 
of stone houses. | 

Pierre gazed at the fires, but could not recognize any part of| 
the city. Here and there could be seen churches still stand- 
ing. The Kreml, undevastated, gleamed white in the dis- 
tance, with its cupolas and Ivan Veltki.t 

Near by gleamed jocund the cupola of the Novo-dievitchy 
monastery, and with unusual clearness could be heard the 
sound of the chimes. This sound of the chimes reminded 
Pierre that it was Sunday, and the Festival of the Nativity of 
the Virgin. But it would seem as if there was no one to eele- 
brate this festival. Everywhere was the ravage of the flames, 
and only rarely were any of the Russian populace to be seen, 
and these were ragged, panic-stricken folk, who concealed them- 
selves at sight of the French. 

Evidently, the Russian nest was wrecked and ruined; but 

* Maiden’s Field. 

+ The Tower of Ivan Veliki, or John the Great, ‘‘a goodly steepill of hewen — 
stoen in the inner Castell of Musco,”’ bui]t by Boris Godun6f, 1600. It is 320 


feet high, and provided with a chime of 34 bells, the largest of which weighs 
64 tons. a 





WAR AND PEACE. 37 


| Pierre had a dim consciousness that behind the overthrow of 


this old order of life, in place of this ruined nest, there would 
be established the new and entirely different but stable 
French order. He felt it at the sight of these soldiers who 


_marched gallantly and blithely in perfectly unbroken ranks 


| 


as they escorted him and the other offenders along; he felt it 
at the sight of an important French official in a two-horse 


calash, driven by a soldier, coming to meet him; he felt it 


by the inspiriting sounds of the martial music which came 


across from the left of tue field; and especially he felt it and 


realized it by the way in which the French officer had that 


‘MImorning read off the list containing the names of the 
_ prisoners. 


place, then transferred to another with a dozen other men; it 


Pierre had been taken by certain soldiers, carried to one 


‘would seem as though they might have forgotten about him, 


' 


have confused him with others. But no! the answer that 
‘he had given during the investigation returned to him in the 
form of an appellation: celui qui n’avoue pas son nom—the 


|man who refuses to give his name. 


And under this appellation, terrible to Pierre, ho was now 
conducted somewhere, with the undoubted conviction written 
on all faces that he and the rest of the prisoners were the very 
ones required, and that they were being taken to the proper 
place. Pierre felt himself an insignificant chip falling into 
the wheels of a machine which he knew nothing about, but 
which acted with absolute regularity. 

Pierre and the other prisoners were conducted to the right- 
hand side of the Dievitchye Pole, to a large white house with 
an immense park not far from the monastery. This was 


Prince Shcherbatof’s house, where Pierre had often visited, 


and which now, as he ascertained from the talk of the sol- 
diers, was occupied by the marshal, the Prince d’Eckmiihl. 
_ They were taken to the porch, and led into the house one 


-at atime. Pierre was number six. Through the glass gal- 
lery, the entry, the anteroom, rooms all well known to Pierre, 
‘he was led into a long, low cabinet, at the door of which stood 
an aide-de-camp. 


Davoust, with his spectacles on his nose, sat by a table at 


‘one end of the room. Pierre came close to him. Davoust, 


without raising his eyes, evidently consulted a document 


‘placed in front of him. Without even raising his eyes, he 


| asked in a low voice :’ “ Qué étes vous ? — Who are you?” 


Pierre said nothing, from the reason that he bad not the 


38 WAR AND PEACE. 


power to utter a word. Davoust, in Pierre’s eyes, was not 
simply a French general; for Pierre, Davoust was a man 
notorious for his cruelty. As he looked into Davoust’s icy 
face, like that of a stern teacher who is willing to be patient 
for a time and wait for,a reply, Pierre felt that every second 
of delay might cost him his life, but he knew not what to say, 
He could not make up his mind to repeat what he had said at 
the first examination; to conceal his name and station was at 
once dangerous and shameful. 

Pierre said nothing. 

But before he had time to come to any decision Davoust 
raised his head, pushed his ‘spectacles up on his forehead, 
squinted his eyes, and gave Pierre a fixed stare. 

“T know this man,” said he in an icy tone, evidently meant 
to alarm Pierre. The chill which before had been running up 
and down Pierre’s back clutched his head as in a vice. 

“ General, you cannot possibly know me: I have never seen 
you se) AD 

“He is a Russian spy,” * interrupted Davoust, turning to 
another general who happened to be in the room and had 
not before been observed by Pierre. And Davoust looked 
away. 

With an unexpected rumbling in his voice, Pierre suddenly 
began to speak rapidly. 

“No, your highness,” said he, unexpectedly remembering 
that Davoust was duke (herzog).— “No, your highness, you 
cannot know me. Jam an officer of militia, and I have not 
been out of Moscow.” 

“Your name ?” demanded Davoust. 

“ Bezukhoi.” 

“Who will prove that you are not imposing on me ?” 

“Your highness!” expostulated Pierre, in a tone that be-| 
trayed not offence but entreaty.T | 

Davoust raised his eyes and stared at Pierre. For several 
seconds they looked into each other’s eyes, and this look was 
what saved Pierre. In this look there was established between 
these two men, above and beyond all the conditions of war 
and the court-room, the relations of a common humanity. 
Both of them at that one moment became confusedly con- 


hos.” — “ Qwest ce qui me prouvera que vous ne mentez pas?” —* Monseiy= 








WAR AND PEACE. 39 


scious of an infinite number of things, and realized that they 
both were children of humanity, — that they were brothers. 

_ For Davoust, who had only just raised his head from the 
list where the acts and -lives of men were represented by 
numbers, Pierre at first glance was only an incident, and 
Davoust would have had him shot without his conscience 
regarding it as a wicked deed; but now he already began to 
see that he wasa man. He deliberated for an instant. 

“How will you prove the truth of what you tell me?” 
asked Davoust coldly. 

Pierre remembered Ramball, and mentioned his regiment 
and name and the street where his lodgings would be found. 
| “You are not what you say you are,” reiterated Davoust. 

_ Pierre, in a trembling, broken voice, began to adduce proofs 
of the correctness of his representation. 

But at this instant an aide entered and made some report to 
Davoust. Davoust suddenly grew radiant at the news com- 
municated by the aide-de-camp, and began to button up his 
soat. He had evidently forgotten Pierre’s existence. 
| When the aide reminded him of the prisoner, he frowned, 
and nodded in Pierre’s direction, and ordered him to be led 
away. But where was he to be led? Pierre had no idea, 
whether back to the coach-house or to the place prepared for 
she execution, which, as he had crossed the Dievitchye Pole, 
ais comrades had pointed out to him. 

He turned his head and looked back, and saw that the aide 
was making some inquiry. : 

“ Oui, sans doute ;” but what this ‘Yes, of course,” meant, 
Pierre had no idea. 

Pierre had no idea how long he was kept walking or whither 
ie was taken. In a condition of absolute stupor and abstrac- 
‘lon, conscious of nothing around him, he mechanically moved 
uis legs together with the others until they were all halted, 
ind then he also halted. 

During all this time one thought filled his mind. This 
‘hought was: Who had in last analysis condemned him to be 
‘xecuted ? It was not the same men who had examined him 
it the court-martial ; there was not one man among them who 
vould have been willing, or, in all probability, could have done 
‘0. It was not Davoust, who had looked at him with such a 
man look. One instant more and Davoust would have under- 
tood that they were making a mistake, but that moment was 
listurbed by the aide who had come in. And this aide evi- 
‘ently would not have willingly done anything wrong, but he 


. 


40 WAR AND PEACE. 


could not help it. Who, then, was it that was the final cause 
of his being punished, killed, deprived of hfe —he, Pierre, 
with all his recollections, yearnings, hopes, ideas? Who was 
doing this ? | 

And Pierre felt that it was no one. 

It was the order of things, the chain of circumstances. 

This order of things had somehow killed him — Pierre — 
deprived him of life, destroyed him. 


CHAPTER XI. 


From Prince Shcherbatof’s house, the prisoners were con- 
ducted directly down along the Dievitchye Pole, to the left of 
the Dievitchy monastery, and were brought into a kitchen- 
garden where stood an upright post. Back of the post a great 
pit had been dug, the fresh earth was piled up at one side, 
and around the pit and the pillar stood a great throng of 
people. The throng consisted of a few Russians and a great 
number of Napoleonic troops out of military rank; Prussians, 
Italians, and French, in various uniforms. At the right and 
left of the post stood files of French troops in blue uniforms 
with red epaulets, in gaiters and shakos. 

The condemned were stationed in the same order as that 
which they had occupied on the list —Pierre was number six 
—and they were brought up to the post. A number of drums 
were beaten suddenly on two sides, and Pierre felt that at_ 
these sounds a part of his very soul was torn from him. He 
lost the faculty of thinking and considering. He could only 
see and hear. And he had only one desire left, and that was 
that the terrible thing that had to be done should be done as 
speedily as possible. Pierre glanced at his comrades and. 
observed them. 

Two men at the end were shaven-headed convicts. One was 
tall, thin; the other, dark, hirsute, muscular, with a flattened 
nose. Number three was a domestic serf,* forty-five years old, 
with grayish hair and a plump, well-fed body. The fourth 
was a very handsome muzhik, with a bushy, reddish beard, 
and dark eyes. Number five was a factory hand, a sallow, 
lean fellow of eighteen, who wore a khalat. 

Pierre listened to the French soldiers asking how the men 
should be shot: one at a time, or two at a time. 


* Dvorovui. 





WAR AND PEACE. 41 


“Two at a time,” replied the senior officer in a tone of cool 
eomposure. 

A stir ran through the rank and file of the soldiery, and it 
was plain to see that all were making ready, and making ready 
not as men do who make haste to do something that all com- 
prehend, but rather as men make haste to finish some unusual 

task, that must be done, yet is unpleasant and incomprehensible. 

A French official in a scarf directed his steps to the right- 
hand side of the file of the condemned, and read the sentence 
‘In Russian and in French. 

Then two couples of the French soldiers advanced to the 
prisoners, and, by direction of the officer, pinioned the two 
convicts who stood at the end. The convicts were halted at 
‘the post, and while they were bringing the death-caps looked 
‘Silently around them, as a disabled wild beast at bay glares on 
the hunter approaching. 

One kept crossing himself, the other scratched his back and 
tried to force his lips to smile. The soldiers, with hasty hands, 
began to bind their eyes, to put on the death-caps, and fasten 
the men to the post. 

__ A dozen musketeers, with their arms in their hands, stepped 
forth with firm, measured steps, and came. to a halt eight paces 
from the post. 

Pierre looked away so as not to see what was going to take 
place. Suddenly was heard a crash and a rattle, which seemed 
to Pierre louder than the most terrific thunder-clap, and he 

looked round. There was a smoke, and some Frenchmen with 
pale faces and trembling hands were doing something around 
the pit. 

Two others were led out. In the same way, with the same 

eyes, these two also gazed at them all, vainly with their eyes 
alone — for their lips were silent — begging for help, and evi- 
dently not comprehending and not realizing what was going 
to be. They could not believe, because they alone knew what 
their life was for them, and therefore they understood not and 
believed not that it could be taken from them, 
_ Pierre wished not to look, and again turned his head away ; 
but again his ears were assailed as by a terrible explosion, and, 
at the same time, he saw the smoke, the blood of some one, and 
the pale, frightened faces of the Frenchmen again occupied 
with something near the post, — with trembling hands push- 
ing one anather. 

Pierre, breathing heavily, glanced around him, as though ta 
ask, “ What is the meaning of this ? ” 


42 WAR AND PEACE. 


The same question was expressed in all the eyes which met 
Pierre’s. 

On all the faces of the Russians, on the faces of the French 
soldiers and officers, all without exception, he read the same | 
fear, horror, and battle which were in his heart. } 

“Yes, who is it that is really responsible for this? They 
all suffer just exactly as Ido. Whose doings is 1t ? whose ?” | 
Such was the question that flashed through Pierre’s mind. | 

“ Tirailleurs du 86", en avant — Squad of the 86th, forward,” 
some one commanded. | 

The man who was fifth on the list, and stood next to Pierre, | 
was led out — alone! | 

Pierre did not comprehend that he was saved; that he and 
all the others had been brought out simply to be witnesses of | 
the execution. With ever increasing horror, but with no real- 
izing sense either of joy or relief, he watched proceedings. | 

The fifth man was the factory workman in the khalat. The | 
moment they laid their hands on him he seemed overwhelmed | 
with terror, and clung to Pierre. Pierre shuddered, and shook | 
him off. 

The factory hand could not walk. He was seized under 
the arms and dragged away, yelling something. When they) 
brought him to the post, he suddenly became quiet. An idea 
suddenly seemed to occur to him. Whether he realized that 
it was idle to scream, or felt that it was impossible that these 
men should really mean to kill him, —at all events, he stood by 
the post waiting for his eyes to be bandaged, just as the others | 
had done, and like the wild beast at bay glared around him) 
with flashing eyes. | | 

Pierre could not bring himself to turn away or close his} 
eyes. His curiosity and emotion, shared with the whole 
throng at the spectacle of this fifth execution, had arisen to, 
the highest pitch. Like the other four, this new victim was) 
composed. He wrapped his khalat around him, and rubbed! 
one bare foot against the other. _ | 

When they proceeded to bind his eyes, he himself arranged’ 
the knot on the back of his head, as it was too tight for him, 
Then, when they placed him with his back to the blood-| 
sprinkled post, he leaned back against it, but then, as though 
finding it uncomfortable in that position, he straightened him- 
self up, and, standing on even feet, he coolly stood with his | 
back to it. . : 

Pierre did not take his eyes from him, or lose his slightesé) 
motion. | 








WAR AND PEACE. «48 


| Some command must have been given; the command must 
have been followed by the reports of eight muskets. But 
‘Pierre, in spite of all his subsequent efforts to remember, heard 
‘not the slightest report from the fire-arms. He only saw how 
the factory hand, for some reason, suddenly leaned with all 
‘is weight on the ropes, how blood showed in two spots, and 
‘now the ropes themselves from the weight of the suspended 
sody gave way, and the factory hand, unnaturally lolling his 
ead, and his legs doubling under him, sat down. 

Pierre ran up to the post. No one detained him. The 
dale, terror-stricken men were doing something or other about 
she workman. One old, mustachioed French soldier, as he 
jmtied the ropes, could not prevent. his lower jaw from trem- 
ling. The body was laid on the ground. The soldiers 
slumsily and in all haste dragged it behind the post, and pro- 
»eeded to push it into the pit. 

_ They ali, evidently, were well assured that these men were 
‘timinals, and that it was necessary as quickly as possible to 
Jat out of sight all traces of their crime. 

_ Pierre glanced into the pit, and saw that the factory hand 
‘ay there with his knees drawn up near to his head, and one 
‘houlder higher than the other. And this shoulder was con- 
ulsively but regularly falling and rising. But already shovel- 
uls of earth were falling on his whole body. 

One of the soldiers sternly, impatiently, wrathfully called 
0 Pierre to come back. But Pierre heard him not, and stood 
‘ly the post, and no one drove him away. 

When now the pit was all filled up, a word of command 
fas heard. Pierre was brought back to his place, and the 
‘rench troops, standing in files on both sides of the post, 
‘aced about, and marched by the post in measured step. 

/ The twenty-four men whose muskets had been emptied, 
tanding in the midst of the square, ran to their places, as 
‘heir companies marched by them. 

Pierre gazed with lack-lustre eyes at these men, who two 
y two left the circle. All but one had rejoined their com- 
anies.. A young soldier with a deathly pale face, and wearing 
Shako on the back of his head, had grounded his musket, 
‘nd still stood in front of the pit, in the spot where he had 
red. He staggered like a drunken man a few steps forward, 
ten back, and could scarcely keep from falling. An old 
idier, a non-commissioned officer, ran from the ranks, and, 
“izing the young soldier, drew him back to his company. 
he throng of Russians and French began to disperse. All 
ent off in silence, with dejected. heads.. 





44 WAR AND PEACE. 


“Ca leur apprendra a encendier. — This ‘ll teach ’em to set 
fires,” said one of the Frenchmen. Pierre glanced at the 
speaker, and saw that he was a soldier who wanted to get 
some consolation from what had been done, but could not. 
Without finishing what he had begun to say, he waved his 
hand, and went on his way. 


CHAPTER XII. 


Arter the execution, Pierre was parted from’ the others 
and placed by himself in a small, dilapidated church that ha¢ 
been burned. 

Just before evening a non-commissioned officer of the 
guard, accompanied by two soldiers, came into the church, anc 
explained to Pierre that he was reprieved, and was to be pul 
into the barracks of the prisoners of war. 

Without comprehending what was said to him, Pierre got 
up and went with the soldiers. 

He was conducted to some huts at the upper part of the 
field, constructed of burned planks, beams, and scantling, anc 
introduced into one of them. It was dark, and Pierre founc 
himself surrounded by a score of various characters. Puierré 
looked at these men, without comprehending who they were 
why they were there, or what they wanted of him. He hearc 
the words that they spoke, but he saw no connection 0; 
coherence in them: he did not comprehend their meaning 
He answered their questions, but he had no idea who listenec 
to him or how his answers were received. He looked at the 
faces and forms, and they all alike seemed to him meaningless 

From the moment that Pierre had looked upon that horric 
massacre perpetrated by men who did not wish to do it, r 
might have been thought that the mainspring by which 
everything had been co-ordinated and kept alive in his minc 
had been torn away, and everything had crumbled into a heay 
of incoherent dust. Although he made no attempt to explair 
how it happened, his faith in the beneficent ordering of the 
universe, in the human soul, and in his own and in God 
was destroyed. 

Pierre had passed through such a mental crisis before, bu 
never one of such violence as this. Before, when this kind 0: 
doubts had come upon Pierre, they had had their origin 
his own wrong-doing. And Pierre had felt in the depth 
of his heart that his salvation from such despair and dou’ 





WAR AND PEACE. 45 


“was in himself. But now he was conscious that it was not 
his own fault that the universe had collapsed before his eyes, 
‘Teaving only incoherent ruins. He felt that it was not in his 
power to return to faith in life. 
~~ Around him in the darkness stood a number of men: appar- 
ently, they found something in him to interest them. They 
told him things, they asked questions of him; then they led 
him somewhere, and at last he found himself in a corner of 
‘the balagan, together with certain men who were talking and 
laughing together. “Here, now, my brothers, is the prince 
‘himself who” — (special stress was laid on the word “who a} 
‘Said some one’s voice in the opposite corner of the balagan. 
| Pierre sat motionless and silent on the straw next the wall, 
now opening and now closing his eyes. But as soon as he 
Closed his eyes he saw before him the factory workman’s 
face, terrible, yes, terrible, from its very simplicity of expres- 
sion, and the still more terrible faces of the involuntary execu- 
tioners, with their anxious looks. And he would again open 
his eyes, and again stared meaninglessly into the darkness 
around him. 
| Next him sat a little man all doubled up, whose presence 
Pierre was made aware of from the very first by the powerful 
odor of perspiration which emanated from him every time he 
moved. This man was engaged in doing something to his 
feet, and though Pierre could not see his face he felt conscious 
that this man kept looking at him. By straining his eyes to 
suit the darkness, Pierre made out that this man was baring 
his feet. And Pierre began to grow interested in the way in 
which he performed the operation. 

Having unwound the long band which was twisted around 
‘me foot and leg, he carefully rolled it up, and then went to 
work on the other foot the same way, constantly glancing at 
Pierre. While one hand was hanging up the first leg-wrap- 
‘oer, the other had instantly begun to undo the one on the 
other leg. Having thus bared his feet with precise but flow- 
“ng, well-directed motions whereby no time was lost, the man 
spread out his foot-gear on the pegs which were driven in just 
‘tbove his head, took out his pocket-knife, pared off something, 
shut up his knife, thrust it under his pillow, and, having set- 
‘Ted himself more comfortably, he clasped his knees with both 
‘ands and stared straight at Pierre. 

' For Pierre there was something agreeable, soothing, and 
‘atisfying in these well-regulated motions, and in this man 
‘aaking himself so at home in his corner, — even in the odo1 





46 WAR AND PEACE. 


emanating from him; and Pierre, without dropping his eyes, 
returned his gaze. 

“Well, have you seen pretty hard times, barin? hah ?” 
suddenly asked the little man. And there was such an 
expression of gentleness and simple-hearted goodness in the 
man’s sing-song voice that Pierre would have instantly 
replied, but his jaw trembled and the tears came into his 
eyes. The little man at the same second, not giving Pierre 
time to betray his confusion, went on in the same pleasant 
voice : — 

« Ah, my dear friend,* don’t repine,” said he, in that gentle, 
sing-song, affectionate tone with which old Russian peasant 
women talk, “don’t repine, my friend. An hour to suffer, 
but an age to live! That’s the way it is, my dear! But we 
live here, thank God, without offence. There’s bad men and 
there’s good men as well,” said he, and, while still speaking, 
‘the got up on his knees with an agile motion, arose, and, 
coughing, went somewhere. 

“ Here, you little rascal,t you’ve come, have you! — There, 
there! that’ll do!” 

And the soldier, pushing off a puppy that was jumping upon 
him, returned to his place and sat down. He carried in his 
hand something wrapped up in a rag. ! 

“‘ Here’s something to eat, barin,” said he, returning to his 
former respectful tone, and, unwrapping the bundle, he gave 
to Pierre several baked potatoes. ‘We had porridge for din- 
ner. But potatoes are excellent.” 

Pierre had eaten nothing all day, and the smell of the 
potatoes seemed to him extraordinarily pleasant. He thanked 
the soldier and began to eat. 

“Well, how is it?” asked the soldier, with a smile, and 
taking one of the potatoes, — “do you relish it ?” — He agai 
got out his jack-knife, laid the potato on his palm, and cut it” 
into halves, sprinkled. salt on from the rag, and offered it 
to Pierre. “Potatoes excellent,” he reiterated. ‘“ Eat it that 
way!” 

It seemed to Pierre that he had never eaten any viands 
that tasted more appetizing. 

“No, it makes no difference to me, one way or the other,” 
said Pierre. “But why did they shoot those poor wretches ? 
The last one wasn’t twenty.” : 

“Ts! tts!” — said the little man. “A sin!—asin!” he 
quickly added; and as though words were always ready to his 

* E sokolik (little hawk). t Ish shecma. 





WAR AND PEACE. 47 


lips, and winged to fly away very unexpectedly from them, he 
added, — 

_ “How was it, barin, that you staid in Moscow ?” 

_ “TI did not think they would come so soon. It was by acci- 
dent I staid,” replied Pierre. 
__ “And how came they to take you? Was it from your own 
house, my dear? ” * 
_ “No: I was going to the fire, and it was then they seized 
me, and tried me as an incendiary.” 

“Where the tribunal is, there is injustice,” said the little 
man sententiously. 

__ “Have you been long here ?” asked Pierre, as he munched 
the last potato. 

_ “TY? Since Sunday. I was taken from the hospital in 
Moscow.” 

“So you were a soldier, were you?” 

“One of Apsheron’s regiment. I was dying of fever. No 
me had ever told us anything about it. ‘There were twenty 
of us lying there. We had no idea of such a thing — didn’t 
lream of it!” 

“Well, are you bored at being here ? ” 

“How can I help being, my dear ? * My name is Platon; 
jurname, Karatayef,” he added, evidently so as to make 
Yierre’s intercourse with him less formal. | « They always 
‘alled me sokolik in the army. How can one help being bored, 
ny dear? Moscow is the mother of our cities! How can 
me look on and see her destruction and not be blue ? The 
yorm gnaws the cabbage, but perishes before it: that’s the 
id folks’ saying,” he added quickly. 

“ What is that remark you made ?” asked Pierre. 

“T?” demanded Karatayef. “Oh, I said, ‘ Not by our wit, 
ut as God sees fit,’”’ ¢ said he, thinking he was repeating the 
ormer proverb. And immediately he pursued : —“ And you 
ave property, haven’t you, barin? And haveahouse? Your 
Up must be full. And have awife?t And old folks alive ?” 
€ asked. And Pierre, though he could not see because it 
‘as so dark, still knew that the soldier’s lips were curved 
1a respectful smile of friendliness as he asked these ques- 
ons. 

_He was evidently grieved to learn that Pierre had no 
arents, especially no mother. 

“A wife for advice, a wife’s mother for a welcome, but 


'* Sokolik, darling (little hawk). t Nyé néshim umom a Bozhyim sudom. 
1 Khozyaika, mistress of the house, 


48 WAR AND PEACE. 


‘nothing sweeter than one’s own matushka!” said he. “But 
have you any children?” he proceeded to inquire. Pierre's 
negative reply again evidently crieved him, and he hastened 
to add: “Well, you are young yet; God may give them. 
Only you should live in good understanding ” — 

“Ths all the same to me now,” said Pierre, involuntarily. 

«Ekh! My dear man!” exclaimed Platon. “There’s no 
getting rid of the beggar’s sack nor of the prison cell!” He 
got into a more comfortable attitude, cleared his throat, and 
was evidently preparing to spin a long yarn. “This was the 
way, my dear friend,* I lived when I was at home,” he began. 
“We had a rich estate — much land — peasants lived well, and 
we in the house too, glory to thee, O God! My batyushka 
would harvest sevenfold. Lived well, as Christians should | 
But one time” — | 

And Platon Karatayef related a long story about how he 
went into another man’s grove after firewood, and the watch. 
man had caught him; how he had been flogged, tried, and 
sent off as a soldier. —“ Well, my dear friend,” f said he, his 
voice altered by his smile, “it seemed a misfortune ; on the 
contrary, good thing! My brother would have had to go ¥! 
it hadn’t been for my sin. But my younger brother had five 
children, while, you see, I had only a wife to leave. I had é 
little girl once, but God took her back before I went soldier 
ing. I went home on leave once. I will tell you about it 
I see they live better than they did before. Yard full o 
live-stock ; women at home; two brothers off at work. Onk 
Mikhailo, the youngest, at home. And my batyushka, he says 
says he, ‘All my children’s alike to me; no matter whidl 
finger you pinch, it hurts just the same. And if they had no 
taken Platon, Mikhailo’d had to go.’ He took us all in fron 
of the ‘images’— would you believe it ?—and made w 
stand there. ‘Mikhailo, says he, ‘come here. Bow down t 
the ground before him ; and you, woman, bow down; and yor 
little ones, bow down all of you! Have you understood ?’ say 
he. And that’s the way it is, my dear friend. ‘No escapin 
fate’ t And we are always declaring, ‘This is not good, ¢ 
this is all wrong.’ But our happiness is like water in a traw 
net: pull it along and it’s full; take it out and it’s empty 
That’s the way it is.” 

And Platon shifted his seat on his straw. 


* Druk moi linbeznui. + Sokolik gt 
{ Literally, Fate, destiny, seeks heads. A variant of the proverb read 


‘If Fate does not find the man, the man goes to Fate,’ 


WAR AND PEACE. 49 


After a little space of silence, Platon arose: « Well, I sup- 
ose you'd like to go to sleep?” said he, and he began to 
Toss himself, muttering, “Lord Jesus Christ! Saint Nikola! 
‘rola and Lavra! Lord Jesus Christ, Saint Nikola! Frola 
nd Lavra, Lord Jesus Christ — have merey upon us and save 
Ss!” he said in conclusion, bowed down to the very ground, 
‘ot up, drew a deep sigh, and lay down on his straw. «“ Now, 
‘God! let me ‘sleep like a stone, and rise like a loaf,” * he 
xclaimed, and lay down, covering himself with his soldier’s 
at. 
'“ What was that prayer you were repeating?” asked Pierre. 
“Heh ?” said Platon. He was already asleep. “Repeated 
that? Iwas praying to God. Don’t you say your prayers ? ”” 
“Certainly I say my prayers,” replied Pierre. “But what 
as that about Frola and Lavra ? ” t 
“Why,” swiftly replied Platon, “that’s the horses’ saints. 
or we must-have pity on the cattle,” said Karatayef. “Oh, 
yu raseal! you have come back, have you? You want to get 
arm, do you, you nice little slut?” said he, fondling the 
tippy at his feet, and, turning over again, instantly fell 
leep. 
Outside in the distance were heard the sounds of wailing 
d yells, and through the cracks in the hut the glare of the 
e could be seen, but in the balagan it was dark and still. It 
ts long before Pierre could go to sleep; and he lay in his 
ace in the darkness with wide-open eyes, listening to 
aton’s measured snoring, as he lay near him, and feeling 
at that formerly ruined world was now arising again in his 
al, in new beauty and with new and steadfast foundations. 





CHAPTER XIII. 

Tue balagén or hut where Pierre was confined, and where 
| Spent four weeks, contained twenty-three soldiers, three 
‘cers, and two chinovniks, — all prisoners. 
Afterwards all of them seemed to be misty memories to 
ire; but Platon Karatayef forever remained in Pierre’s 
‘nd as a most powerful and precious recollection, the very em- 
Timent of all that was good and worthy and truly Russian. 
When, on the following day, at dawn, Pierre saw his -neigh- 
', the first impression of something rotund was fully con 
‘ * Kaldchik (kalatch), a sort of pretzel or light loaf, 

1 Frola and Lavra: Flora and Laura, 
VOL, 4. — 4. 





t 


50 WAR AND PEACE. 


firmed; Platon’s whole figure, in his French overcoat belted 
with a rope, in his forage cap and bast shoes, was rotund. Hi 
head was absolutely round; his back, his chest, his shoulders, 
even his arms, which he always carried as though he wer 
always ready to throw them around something, were round; 
his pleasant smile and his large, thick brows and his gentle 
eyes were round. 

Platon Karatayef must have been upwards of fifty, to 
judge by his stories of campaigns in which he had taken part 
as a soldier. He himself had no idea, and could never have 
told with any accuracy, how old he was. But his teeth, 
brilliantly white and strong, were always displayed in two 
unbroken rows whenever he laughed, — which he often did, —- 
and not one was not good and sound. There was not a trace 
of gray in beard or hair, and his whole frame had the appear- 
ance of agility and especially of steadfastness and endurance. 

His face, in spite of a multitude of delicate round wrinkles, 
gave the impression of innocence and youth: his voice was 
agreeable in its melodious sing-song. But the chief pecuharity 
of his speech consisted in its spontaneity and shrewdness. He 
evidently never thought of what he said or what he was going 
to say. And from this arose the irresistible persuasiveness 
that was found in the rapidity and certainty of his inton 
tions. | 
His physical powers and activity were so great during the 
early part of their term of captivity that it seemed as though 
he knew not what weariness or ill-health meant. Every 
morning and evening, as he lay on his couch of straw, he 
would say: ‘“ Lord, let me sleep like a stone, and rise like @ 
loaf.” : | 
When he got up in the morning he always shrugged his 
shoulders in a certain way and said: “Turn over when you 
lie down, shake yourself when you get up.” And, in point 0: 
fact, all he had to do was to lie down, and instantly he wouic 
be asleep like a stone; and all he had to do was to shake him 
self, and without a second’s delay he would be ready to talk 
up anything, just as children, when they are once up, take tt 
their toys. 

He was a jack-at-all-trades, but neither very good nor ver) 
bad at any. He could bake, cook, sew, cut hair, cobble boots 
He was always busy, and only when it came night did bh 
allow himself to enjoy social converse, though he enjoyed it 
and to sing. He sang his songs, not as singers usually sing 
knowing that they will be heard, but he sang as the bird 





WAR AND PEACE. 51 


ing, evidently because it was just as much a necessity upon 
‘im-as it was for him to stretch himself or to walk. And 
‘hese sounds were always gentle, soft, almost like a woman’s, 
laintive, and his face, while he was engaged in this, was 
ery grave. 

. During his captivity he let his beard grow, and evidently 
‘iscarded everything extraneous that was foreign or mil- 
ary, and involuntarily returned to his former condition of the 
‘easant and man of the people. | 

“A soldier on leave is a shirt made out of drawers,’ ” he 
‘ould quote. He was not fond of talking about his soldier- 
ig days, although he regretted them not, and often declared ° 
jaat during all his term in the service he had not once been 
jogged. When he had stories to tell he much preferred to 
onfine them to old and evidently precious recollections of 
ie time when he was a serf — Khristianin, Christian, he called 
|, instead of Krestyanin / 

_The proverbs of which he made so much use were not that 
enerally coarse and vulgar slang such as soldiers are apt to 
‘ploy, but were genuine popular “saws,” which seem per- 
etly insignificant when taken out of connection, but which 
iddenly acquire a meaning of deep wisdom when applied 
positely. 

He often said things that were diametrically opposed to 
‘hat he had said before, but yet each statement would be 
Jrrect. He loved to talk, and talked well, embellishing his 
‘Scourse with affectionate diminutives and proverbs, which, 
Seemed to Pierre, the man himself improvised ; but the 
Mef charm of his narrations arose from the fact that the 
mplest events, those which Pierre himself had participated 
without being any the wiser, assumed a character of 
lemn beauty. 

‘He liked to listen to the yarns — though they were all of a 
ingle stamp — which a certain soldier used to tell evenings, 
ub above all he liked to listen to tales of actual life. 

He smiled blithely while listening to such tales, suggesting 
ards and asking questions conducive to bringing out all the 
auty of what was related to him. 

Special attachments, friendships, loves, as Pierre under- 
dod them, Karatayef had none; but he liked all men, and 
ved in a loving way with all with whom his life brought him 
contact, and especially with men — not any particular men 
but with such as were in his sight. He loved his dog; he 
ved his comrades, the French; he loved Pierre, who was his 










52 WAR AND PEACE. 


companion ; but Pierre felt that Karatayef, in spite of all that 
affectionate spirit which he manifested toward him, — and | 
which he could not help giving as a tribute to Pierre’s spirit- | 
ual life, — not for one moment would grieve over separation. | 
And Pierre also began to have the same feeling toward | 
Karatayef. | 
Platon Karatayef was, in the eyes of all the other prisoners, | 
a most ordinary soldier. They called him sokolik, “little | 
hawk,” or Platésha, good-naturedly quizzed him, made him do | 
odd jobs for them. ; 
But for Pierre he remained forever what he had seemed to | 
him the first night, —the incomprehensible, rotund, and eter- | 
nal personification of the spirit of simplicity and truth. | 
The only thing that Platon Karatayef knew merely by | 
rote was his prayer. When he talked, he, it would appear, 
would have no idea where, having once begun, it would bring | 
him out. | 
When Pierre, as sometimes happened, missed the sense of 
what he said, and would ask him to repeat himself, Platon | 
would not be able to remember what he had spoken only the | 
minute before, just as in the same way he could not give | 
Pierre the words of his favorite song. The words were: | 
Rodimaya, beryszanka i téshnenko mnyé, — Mother, little 
birch-tree, sick at heart am I,—but there was no coherent | 
sense in those words. He could not remember or define words | 
apart from the context. ; 
Every word he spoke and everything that he did was the | 
manifestation of that, to him, incomprehensible activity, his 
life. But his life, as he himself looked upon it, had no sense 
as a separate existence. It had sense only as it was a part of 
the great whole of which he was constantly conscious. His: 
words and deeds flowed from him as regularly, unavoidably, | 
and spontaneously as the fragrance exhales from a flower. He 
could not comprehend either the object or the significance of 
words or deeds taken out of their proper connection. 










CHAPTER XIV. 


Tu Princess Mariya, having learned from Nikolai that her 
brother was with the Rostofs at Yaroslavl, immediately, 10 
spite of her aunt’s dissuasion, made her arrangements to join) 
him, not alone, but with her nephew. Bt 

She did not ask herself whether this would be hard or easy; 


WAR AND PEACE. 53 


feasible or impossible, and she cared not to know: it was her 
‘duty not only to be with her brother, who perhaps was dying, 
‘but also to put forth her utmost endeavors to bring his son to 
him, and she was bound to go. 

If Prince Andrei himself did not send her word, it was to 

be explained, the princess was certain, either because he was 
too feeble to write, or because he felt that the long, round- 
about journey would be too hard and perilous for her and his 
son. : 
_ Ina few days the Princess Mariya was ready for the jour- 
ney. Her outfit consisted of the vast, princely coach in which 
she had made the journey to Voronezh, a britchka and a bag- 
gage-wagon. She was accompanied by Mlle. Bourienne, Niko- 
lushka with his tutor, the old nyanya, three maids, Tikhon, a 
young footman, and a haiduk whom her aunt sent with her. 
_ To go by the usual route, by way of Moscow, was not even 
to be thought of, and therefore the roundabout journey which 
the princess had to take through Lipetsk, Riazan, Vladimir, 
Shuya, was very long, and, by reason of the dearth of post- 
horses, very difficult, and in the vicinity of Riazan, where, so 
it was said, the French had begun to appear, even perilous. 

During this trying journey, Mlle. Bourienne, Dessalles, and 
the Princess Mariya’s servants, were amazed at her stead fast- 
ness and activity. She was the last of all to retire, she was 
the first of all to rise, and no difficulties sufficed to daunt her. 
Thanks to her activity and energy, which inspirited her com- 
panions, at the end of the second week they reached Yaroslavl. 

During the last part of her stay in Voronezh, the Princess 
Mariya had experienced the keenest joy of her life. Her love 
for Rostof no longer tormented her or excited her. This love 
filled her whole soul, had made itself an inseparable part of her 
seing, and she no longer struggled against it. Of late, the 
Princess Mariya had persuaded herself —though she never 
said this in so many words even to herself —that she loved, 
md was loved in return. She was convinced of this at her 
ast meeting with Nikolai, when he came to explain that her 
wrother was with his parents. 

Nikolai had not intimated by a single word that now, in 
vase of Prince Andrei’s restoration to health, the former re- 
ations between him and Natasha would be renewed, but the 
“rincess Mariya saw by Nikolai’s face that he knew it was 
dossible and had thought of it. 

_ And, nevertheless, his relations toward her, so considerate, 
‘0 gentle, and so affectionate, not only underwent no change, 



























54 _ WAR AND PEACE. 


but he was apparently delighted, because now the kinship 
between him and the Princess Mariya gave him greater free- 
dom in manifesting to her his friendship-love, for such the 
princess sometimes considered it to be. The Princess Mariya 
knew that this, in her case, was love for the first and last time 
in her life, and she felt that she was loved, and she was happy 
and calm in this state of things. | 

But this happiness did not prevent her from feeling erief in 
all its force for her brother: on the contrary, this spiritual 
composure, in one sense, permitted her greater possibility of 
giving herself up completely to this feeling for her brother. 

This feeling was so intense at the first moment of her de- 
parture from Voronezh that her attendants were convinced, as 
they looked into her anguished, despairing face, that she would 
assuredly fall ill on the way; but the difficulties and trials of 
the journey, which employed so much of her energies, saved 
her for the time being from her grief, and imparted strength 
to her. | 

As is always the case during a journey, the Princess Mariya 
had no other thought than about the journey, and forgot the 
object for which it was undertaken. But, as she approached 
Yaroslavl, when what was possibly before her recurred to her, 
and she realized that it was to be that very evening and not ab 
the end of days, the Princess Mariya’s agitation reached its 
utmost limits. 

When the haiduk who had been sent forward to find where 
in Yaroslavl the Rostofs were quartered, and how Prine 
Andrei was, rode back and met the great travelling-coach at 
the barriers, he was horror-struck to see the princess’s terribly 
pallid face, as she put it out of the window. | 

“I have found out all about it, your ladyship:* the 
Rostofs are on the square, at the house of the merchant 
Bronnikof. Not very far from here, right on the Volga,” said 
the haiduk. 

The Princess Mariya looked into his face anxiously and 
inquiringly, not understanding why he did not reply to the 
question that chiefly occupied her: “ How is my brother ?” 

Mademoiselle Bourienne asked this question for th 
princess. | 

“ How is the prince ? ” asked she. 

«“ His illustriousness is with them in the same house.” 

“Of course, then, he must be alive,” thought the princess, 
and she softly asked: “ How is he?” 

* Vashe siydtelstvo (illustriousness). 


WAR AND PEACE. 5d 


' “The servants say he is still in the same condition.” 

_ The princess did not dream of asking what he meant by 
being “in the same condition,” and imperceptibly giving a 
swift glance at the seven-year-old Nikolushka, who was sit- 
ting next her and rejoicing in the sight of the city, she 
‘dropped her head and did not look up again until the heavy 
sarriage, rumbling, jolting, and swaying, stopped somewhere. 
The steps were let down with a clatter. The door was thrown 
ypen. At the left was water —the great river; at the right, 
4 door-step; on the door-step were servants and a young, 
euddy-faced girl, with a long, dark switch of hair, who wore 
what seemed to the Princess Mariya a disagreeably hypocrit- 
al smile. 

This was Sonya. 

The princess got out and mounted the steps; the hypocriti- . 
sally smiling young girl said, “This way, this way,” and the 
orincess found herself in the anteroom, in the presence of an 
slderly woman, with an Eastern type of face, who, with a 
lurried expression, came swiftly to meet her. 

_ This was the old countess. 

She threw her arms around the Princess Mariya and began 
30 kiss her. 

_ “My child!” she exclaimed, “I love you and I have known 
you for a long time.” * 

In spite of all her agitation the princess realized that this 
was the countess and that she must say something to her. 
She, without knowing how she did it, murmured a few polite 
vords in French, in the same tone in which those spoken to 
ler were said, and then she asked, “ How is he? ” 

“The doctor says that there is no danger,” said the coun- 
ess; but even while she made that remark she sighed and 
‘aised her eyes to heaven, and in this action contradicted 
vhat she had just said. 

“Where is he? MayI see him? MayI?” asked the 
yrincess. 

“Directly, princess, directly, dear friend!—Is this his 
on?” she asked, turning to Nikolushka, who had come in 
vith Dessalles. “There will be room enough for us all. It 
$a large house. — Oh, what a lovely little boy !” 

The countess took the princess into the drawing-room. 
jonya engaged in conversation with Mademoiselle Bourienne. 
Che countess fondled the boy. The old count came into the 
oom to pay his respects to the princess. 


* Mon enfant! je vous aime et vous connais depuis longtemps. 


56 WAR AND PEACE. 


The old count had completely altered since the princess had 
seen him the last time. Then he was a lively, jovial, self 
confident little old man; now he seemed like a melancholy 
wreck of himself. As he talked with the countess he kept 
looking round, as though he were asking all present whether 
he were doing the proper thing. After the destruction of | 
Moscow and his property, being taken out of the ruts in which > 
he was accustomed to run, he had apparently lost his bearings, 
and felt that there was no longer any place for him in life. — 

In spite of her one desire to see her brother as speedily as 
possible, and her annoyance because at the moment when she 


might be gratifying this desire, and seeing him, she was 
obliged to exchange courtesies with these people, and to listen — 


to pretended praise of her nephew, still the princess kept a 
close watch on everything around her, and felt that it was 
incumbent upon her to conform to the new order of things 
into which she had fallen. She knew that it was a necessity, 
and, hard as it was, still she kept. her temper. | 

“This is my niece,” said the count, introducing Sonya. 
‘You have not met her, have you, princess ? ” 

The princess turned to her, and, trying to overmaster the 
feeling of hostility that this young lady caused in her heart, 
she gave her a kiss. But it was made hard for her because of 





the want of harmony between all these people and what was 


in her own heart. 
“Where is he?” she asked again, addressing no one in- 
particular. . | 
“ He is downstairs. Natasha is with him,” replied Sonya, 
coloring. ‘ They’ve sent word to him. I think you must be 
tired, princess.” | 
Tears of vexation arose to the princess’s eyes. She turned 
away, and was going once more to ask the countess how she 
could go to him, when light, impetuous, one might almost say 
jocund, steps were heard in the adjoining room. The princess 
glanced round and saw Natasha almost running, — that same 
Natasha who, when she had last seen her in Moscow, had so 
completely failed to please her. | 
The princess had scarcely glanced into the face of this — 
Natasha before she perceived that this was a genuine sympa- 
thizer in her grief, and hence her friend. She went to meet 
her, and, throwing her arms around her, melted into tears on 
her neck. | | 
As soon as Natasha, who had been sitting by Prince 
Andrei’s bedside, learned of the princess’s arrival, she had 


| 


WAR AND PEACE. 57 


quietly left the room, and with the same swift and, as it 
‘seemed to the Princess Mariya, jocund steps, hurried to meet 
wer. 

On her agitated face there was only one expression when 
she came into the room —the expression of love, unbounded 
love for him, for his sister, for everything that was near and 
dear to this beloved man, the expression of pity, of sympathy 
for others, and a passionate desire to give herself up entirely 
if only he might find help. It was evident that, at that mo- 
ment, there was no room in Natasha’s soul for thoughts about 
herself, or about her relations toward him. 

The sensitive Princess Mariya, at the first glance into 
Natasha’s face, realized all this, and, with a bitter sweetness, 
she wept on her neck. 

“Let us go to him; come, Marie!” exclaimed Natasha, lead- 
ing her into the next room. 

The Princess Mariya looked up, wiped her eyes, and was 
about to ask Natasha a question. She felt that from her she 
could ask and learn all that she wanted to know. 

“How” — she began to ask, but suddenly paused. She 
felt that her question could not be asked or answered in 
words. Natasha’s face and eyes would tell her everything 
more clearly and with profounder meaning. 

Natasha looked at her, but, it seemed, she was in too great 
fear or doubt, either to tell or not to tell all that she knew; 
she seemed to feel that, in presence of those lucid eyes, search- 
ing the very depths of her soul, it was impossible not to tell 
the whole truth, everything as she herself saw it. Natasha’s 
lip suddenly trembled, the ugly wrinkles grew more _ pro- 
nounced around her mouth, and she burst into tears. and hid 
ner face in her hands. 

The Princess Mariya understood all. 

But still she hoped, and she asked in words in which she 
aad no faith, — 

“But how is his wound? What is his general condition ? ” 

“ You — you — will see for yourself,” was all that Natasha 
ould manage to say. 

The two waited for some time downstairs, next his room, 
io as to finish crying, and to go to him with composed faces. 

“ How has his whole illness gone? Has the change for the 
vorse been of recent occurrence ? When did this take place ? ” 
isked the Princess Mariya. 

_ Natasha had told her that during the first part of the time 
here was danger from his fever and suffering, but that at 


58 WAR AND PEACE. 


Troitsa this had passed off, and the doctor had only feared 
Anthony’s fire. But even this danger of mortification had 
been avoided. When they reached Yaroslavl, the wound began 
to suppurate (Natasha understood all about suppuration and 
‘such things), and the doctor said that the suppuration might 
take its normal course. There had been some fever. The 
doctor declared that this fever was not ominous. “ But two 
days before,” Natasha said, “this had suddenly come upon 
him.” — She restrained her sobs. —“I don’t know why, but 
you will see how he is.” 

“Has he grown weaker? Has he grown thin?” — asked 
the princess. 

“No, not exactly, but thinner. You will see. Ah, Marie! 
he is too good; he cannot, cannot live — because” — 


CHAPTER XV. 


Wuen Natasha, with her ordinary composure, opened the 
door of his room, allowing the princess to enter before her, 
the Princess Mariya felt that the sobs were already swelling 
her throat. In spite of her preparations, her endeavors t¢ 
compose herself, she knew that she should not be able to se¢ 
him without tears. 

The Princess Mariya comprehended what Natasha meani 
by the phrase, “ Two days before, this had suddenly com 
upon him.” She realized what it meant that he had sul 
denly grown softened: this sweetness and humility were the 
symptoms of death. As she entered the doorway, she already 
saw in her fancy that face of her Andriusha, which she hac 
known in childhood, gentle, sweet, full of feeling, sensitive, 11 
a way that later had rarely shown itself, and which had, there 
fore, always made such a vivid impression upon her. She 
knew that he would speak to her those subdued, affectionate 
words, like what her father had spoken just before he died 
and that she would not be able to endure it, and would burs 
into tears before him. 

But sooner or later it had to be, and she entered the room 
The sobs rose higher and higher in her throat, as, with greatel 
and greater distinctness, with her near-sighted eyes, she dis 
tinguished his form and searched his features, and then she 
saw his face and met his eyes. 

He lay on a sofa, propped up with pillows, and wrapped i 
a squirrel-skin khalat. He was thin and pale. One thin 


WAR AND PEACE. 59 
transparently white hand held his handkerchief; with the 
other he was, by a gentle motion of the fingers, caressing the 
Jong ends of his mustache. His eyes were turned toward 
the visitors. 

‘When the Princess Mariya saw his face and her eyes met 
his, she suddenly modified the haste of her steps, and felt that 
her tears were suddenly dried and her sobs relieved. As she 
caught the expression of his face and eyes, she suddenly grew 
awestruck, and felt that she was guilty. 

“But what am I guilty of ?” she asked herself. 

“ Because thou art alive, and art thinking of the future, 
while 1?” — was the reply of his cold, stern look. 

In that look of his, not outward from within, but turned 
inward upon himself, there was almost an expression of hos- 
“ility, as he slowly turned his eyes on his sister and N atasha. 
He exchanged kisses with his sister, and shook hands as 
usual. 

“ How are you, Marie? How did you get here ?” he asked, 
but his voice had the same monotonous and alien sound that 
was in his look. If he had uttered a desperate cry, this cry 
would have filled the Princess Mariya with less horror than 
he sound of his voice. “And have you brought Niko- 
ushka ?” he asked, in the same slow, indifferent way, and 
vidently finding it hard to recollect. 

“How are. you now?” inquired the Princess Mariya, 
mnazed, herself, at her question. 

“That you must ask of the doctor,” he replied, and evi- 
lently collecting his strength, so as to be more gracious, he 
aid with his lips alone (it was evident that he did. not think 
tall of what he was saying), “ Merci, chére amie, d’étre venue 
— Thank you for coming!” ‘ 

The Princess Mariya pressed his hand. He almost notice- 
bly frowned at the pressure of her hand. He was silent, 
nd she knew not what to say. She now understood what had 
ome over him two days before. In his words, in his tone, 
specially in this glance of his, this cold, almost hostile look, 
ould be perceived that alienation from all that is of this 
orld, that is so terrible for a living man to witness. He 
vidently found it difficult to understand the interests of life, 
ut at the same time one could feel that this was so not because 
@ was deprived of the power of remembrance, but because 
is mind was turned to something else, which the living com- 
tehend not and cannot comprehend, and which was absorb- 
'g him entirely. 


60 WAR AND PEACE. 


“Yes, see what a strange fate has brought us together 
again!” said he, breaking the silence, and indicating Natasha, 
«She has taken care of me all the time.” : 

The Princess Mariya heard him and understood not what 
he said. He, the sensitive, gentle Prince Andrei, how could 
he say this of her whom he loved and who loved him? If he 
had had any thought of living he could never have made such 
4 remark in such a coldly insulting tone. If he had not 
known that he was going to die, how could he have failed to 
pity her, how could he have said such a thing in her presence! 
The only explanation could be that to him it was a matter of 
indifference and wholly of indifference, because something 
else, something far more important, had been revealed to him. 

The conversation was cold, desultory, and interrupted every 
instant. 

“ Marie came through Riazan,” said Natasha. 

Prince Andrei did not remark that she had spoken of his 
sister as Marie. But Natasha, having called her so for the 
first time, noticed it herself. 

“Well, what about it?” he asked. 

«They told her that Moscow was all on fire, all burned up, 
and that ” — 

Natasha paused: it was impossible for her to speak. He 
was evidently making an effort to listen, and still could not. 

“Oh, yes, burned,” said he. “Too bad!” and again he 
looked straight ahead, smoothing his mustache abstractedly 
with his fingers. 

«And so you met Count Nikolai, did you, Marie ?.” sud 
denly asked-Prince Andrei, evidently trying to say something 
pleasant. “He wrote home that he was very much in love 
with you,” he pursued very simply and calmly, evidently not 
being strong enough to realize all the complicated significance 
which his words had for the living. “If you love him also 
then it would be a very good thing —if you were to marry,’ 
he added a little more rapidly, as though rejoiced to find # 
last words which he had been long trying to find. 

The Princess Mariya heard his words, but they had for he: 
no meaning, except as they showed how terribly far he wai 
now from all earthly interests. | 

«Why speak about me?” she asked composedly, ai 
elanced at Natasha. Natasha, feeling conscious of this glan¢ 
did not look at her. 

Again all were silent. 

“André, do you wa—,” suddenly asked the princess in 















WAR AND PEACE. ; 61 


trembling voice — “ do you want to see Nikolushka? He is 
always talking about you.” . 

_ Prince Andrei for the first time smiled, though almost im. 
Be eubly: but his sister, who knew his face so well, observed 
to her horror that this was not a smile of pleasure or of affec- 
tion for his son, but one of quiet, sweet irony at his sister 
‘employing, as he supposed, this final means of bringing him 
‘back to conscious emotion. 

“Yes, very glad to see Nikolushka. Is he well?” 


When they brought to Prince Andrei his little N ikolushka, 
who gazed in terror at his father, but did not weep, because 
mo one else was weeping, Prince Andrei kissed him, and 
evidently knew not what to say to him. 

When Nikolushka was led away again, the Princess Mariya 
returned to her brother, kissed him, and, unable to control her- 
self longer, burst into tears. 

He gazed at her steadily. 

“ Are you crying for Nikolushka ?” he asked. 

The princess, weeping, nodded affirmatively. 

“Marie, you know the New Tes—” but he suddenly 
stopped. 

“What did you say ?” 

“Nothing. But you must not weep here,” he added, look- 

ng at her with the same cold look. 


When the Princess Mariya burst into tears, he understood 
hat she was weeping because Nikolushka would be left father- 
OSS. 

By a great effort of self-mastery he tried to return to life 
nd look upon things from their standpoint. 

“Yes, it must seem very sad to them,” he thought, “but 
Ow simple this is!— the fowls of the air sow not, neither 
0 they reap, yet your heavenly Father feedeth them,” he 
ud to himself, and that was what he was going to say to the 
Mincess ; “but no, they understood that in their way; they 
‘ul not comprehend it. They cannot comprehend that ail 
1ese feelings which they cherish, all these ideas — which 
’em to us so important, are of no consequence. We cannot 
aderstand each other.” And so he held his peace. 


Prince Andrei’s little son was seven years old. He scarcely 
dew how to read. He really knew nothing. He went 
irough much subsequent to that day, acquiring knowledge, 


62 ; WAR AND PEACE. 


the habit of observation, experience; but if he had at that 
time enjoyed the mastery of all that he acquired later, he 
could not’ have had a deeper, truer comprehension of the 
significance of that scene between his father, the Princess 
Mariya, and Natasha, than he had then. He understood it 
perfectly, and, not shedding a tear, he left the room, silently 
erept up to Natasha, who followed him, and shyly looked at 
her out of his beautiful, dreamy eyes; his short li, trembled; 
he leaned his head against her and wept. 

From that day he avoided Dessalles, avoided th. ountess, 
who petted him, and either staid alone by himself or timidly 
joined the Princess Mariya and Natasha, whom he, as it 
seemed, liked better than his aunt, and quietly and shyly 
staid by them. | 

The Princess Mariya, on leaving her brother, perfectly 
comprehended what Natasha’s face had told her. She said 
nothing more about any hope of saving his life. She took 
turns with her in sitting by his sofa, and she ceased to weep; 
but she prayed without ceasing, her soul turning to that 
eternal, searchless One, whose presence so palpably hovered 
over the dying man. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Prince ANDREI not only knew that he was going to die, but 
he also felt that he was dying, that he was already half-way 
toward death. 

He experienced a consciousness of alienation from every- 
thing earthly, and a strange, beatific exhilaration of being. 
Without impatience and without anxiety, he waited for what 
was before him. 

That ominous, Eternal Presence, unknown and far away, 
which had never once ceased, throughout all his life, to haunt 
his senses, was now near at hand, and, by reason of that 
strange exhilaration which he felt, almost comprehensible and 
palpable. 


Before, he had feared the end. Twice he had experienced 
that terribly tormenting sense of the fear of death, of the end 
and now he did not realize it. 

The first time he had experienced that feeling was when 
the shell was spinning like a top before him, and he looked at 


¢ 
i 


WAR AND PEACE. 63 


“the stubble field, at the shrubbery, at the sky, and knew that 
' death was before him. 

‘When he waked to consciousness, after his wound, and in 
his soul, for an instant, as it were, freed from the burden of 
life that crushed him, had Sprung up that flower of love eter- 

nal, unbounded, independent of all life, he no longer feared 
‘death, and thought no more of it. 

'_ During those tormenting hours of loneliness and half-delir- 
“Tum which he had spent since he was wounded, the more he 
pondered over this new source of eternal love which had at 
first been concealed from him, the more he became alienated 
from the earthly life, though the process was an unconscious 
| one. 

_ Lo love everything, all men, always to sacrifice self for 
‘love’s sake, meant to love no one in particular, meant not to 
|live this mundane life. And the more he imbued himself 
|with this source of love, the more he let go of life, and the 
more absolutely he broke down that terrible impediment 
/which, if love be absent, holds between life and death. 

When, during this first period, he remembered that he must 
die, he said to himself, « Well, then, so much the better.” 

_ But after that meght at Muitishehi, when in his semi- 
delirium she whom he had longed for appeared before him, 

and when he, pressing his lips to her hand, had wept gentle 
tears of joy, then love for one woman imperceptibly took pos- 
‘session of his heart and again attached it to life. And joyful 
but anxious thoughts began to recur to him. As he remem. 
bered the moment at the field lazaret, when he had seen 
‘Kuragin, he could not now renew that former feeling; he was 
sortured by the question: “Is he alive?” But he dared not 
‘nake the inquiry. 

His illness followed its physical course, but what Natasha 
ad spoken of as having come over him happened two days 
yefore the Princess Mariya’s arrival. This was the last moral 
tombat between life and death, and death had been victorious. 
-t was the unexpected discovery that he still prized his 
ife, which presented itself in the guise of his love for 
Natasha, and the last victorious attack of horror before the 
inknown. 

' It was evening. As was usually the case after dinner, he 
‘vas in a slightly feverish condition, and his mind was preter- 
_aturally acute. Sonya was sitting by the table, Suddenly, 
realizing sense of: bliss took possession of him. 

“Ah! she has come!” he gaid to himself, 









64 WAR AND PEACE. 


In point of fact, Sonya’s place was occupied by Natasha, 
who had just come in with noiseless steps. 

Ever since the time when she had begun to be his nurse, he 
had always experienced this physical sense of her presence. 

She sat in the easy-chair, with her side toward him, shading 
his eyes from the candle-light, and knitting stockings. (She 
had learned to knit stockings because one time Prince Andrei 
had told her that no one made such admirable nurses for the 
sick as old nyanyas, who are always knitting stockings, be- 
cause there is something very soothing in the operation of 
knitting.) Her slender fingers swiftly plied the occasionally 
clicking needles, and the pensive profile of her bended head 
was full in his sight. She moved —the ball of yarn rolled 
from her lap. She started, glanced at him, and shading the 
candle with her hand, with a cautious, lithe, and eraceful | 
movement, she bent over, picked up the ball, and resumed 
her former position. 

“He looked at: her without stirring, and noticed that after 
she had picked up the ball she had wanted to draw a long 
breath, with her full bosom, but had refrained from doing so, 
and had cautiously masked her sigh. 

At the Troitskaya Lavra they had talked over the past, ancl 
he had told her that in case he lived he should eternally 
thank God for his wound, which had brought him back to 
her; but from that time they had not spoken of the future. 

“Can it possibly be ?” he was now musing, as he looked at 
her and listened to the slight steely click of her knitting nee- 
dles, “can it be that fate has so strangely brought us together 
again only that I may die? . . . Can it be that the true mean- 
ing of life was revealed to me only that I might live in a he ? 
I love her more than all else in the world. But what can I de 
if I love her?” he asked himself, and he suddenly, in spite 
of himself, groaned, as he often did, out of a custom acquire 
while he had been suffering. 

Hearing this sound, Natasha laid down her stocking, bent 
nearer to him, and, suddenly noticing his flashing eyes, she 
went over to him and bent down to him. | 

“ Haven’t you been asleep ?” 

“No: Ihave been looking at you this long time. I kne 
by feeling when you came in. No one except you gives nl 
such a sense of gentle restfulness. — Such light! I pe 
like weeping from very joy.” 

Natasha moved still closer to him. Her face was radiav 
with solemn delight, 











WAR AND PEACE. 65 


" “Natasha, I love you too dearly! More than all in the 
world!” 
| “And 1?” She turned away for an instant. ° « Why ‘too 
dearly’ ?” she asked. 
) “Why too dearly ?— Now tell me what you think — what 
you think in the depths of your heart! shall I get well? 
How does it seem to you?” 

“T am sure of it, sure of it,” Natasha almost screamed, with 
‘4 passionate motion seizing both his hands. . 
_ He was silent. i 

“ How good it would be!” And, taking her hand, he kissed 
t 


| Natasha was happy and agitated ; and instantly she remem- 
vered that this was all wrong, that he needed to be kept per- 
ectly quiet. 

“ However, you have not been asleep,” said she, calming her 

feasure. “Try to geta nap — please do.” 
_ He relinquished her hand, after pressing it once again, and 
he went back to the candle and resumed her former position. 
Twice she looked at him; his eyes met hers. She set herself 
/Stint on the stocking, and resolved that she would not look 
p until she had finished it. 

In point of fact, soon after this he closed his eyes, and went 
Osleep. He did not sleep long, and woke suddenly in a cold 
erspiration of anxiety. . 

While he slept, his mind was constantly occupied with the 
uestion: death, or life? And death more than life! He felt 
nat it was near. 

“Love ? What is love?” he asked himself. 

“Love is the antidote to death. Love is life. All, all that 
‘understand, I understand solely because I love. All is, all 
cists simply and solely because I love. All is summed up in 
us alone. Love is God; and death for me, who am a tiny 
wticle of love, means returning into the universal and eternal 
Jurce of love.” 

“These thoughts seemed to him a consolation. But they 
ere only thoughts. There was something lacking in them, 
mething that was exclusive and personal —there was no 
‘sis of reality. And he was a prey to the same restlessness 
id lack of clearness. 

“He fell asleep. 

It seemed to him, in his dream, that he was lying in the 
‘Mme room in which he was actually lying, but that he was not 
Dunded, but quite well. Many different persons, insignificant, 
VOL. 4, —5. 


d 





66 WAR AND PEACE. | 
indifrerent, appear before him. He is talking with them, 
discussing something of no earthly consequence. They are 
preparing to go somewhere. Prince Andrei dimly compre- 
hends that all this is mere waste of time, and that he has 
something of real importance to accomplish, but still he goes 
on talking, filling them with amazement at his words, which 
are witty but devoid of sense. 

Gradually, but imperceptibly, all these persons begin to dis- 
appear, and his attention is wholly occupied by the question 
of aclosed door. He gets up and goes to the door, with the 
intention of pushing the bolt and closing the door. 

Everything depends on whether he succeeds or not in clos- 
ing it. He starts, he tries to make haste, but his legs refuse | 
to move, and he knows that he will not have time to close the 
door, but still he morbidly puts forth all his energies. And | 
a painful anguish of fear takes hold of him. And this fear 18° 
the fear of death: behind the door J¢ 1s standing. 

But by the time that he feebly, awkwardly drags himself to 
the door, this something horrible, pushing its way from the 
other side, breaks through. Something that 1s not human — 
Death —is pushing the door open, and he must keep it shut. 
He clutches the door, exerts his final energies, —not indeed to 
shut it, for that is impossible, but to hold it; his energies, 
however, are weak and maladroit, and, crushing him with its 
horror, the door opens and again closes. 

Once more the pressure came from without. His last, su- 
perhuman energies were vain, and both wings of the door 
noiselessly swung open. J¢ came in, and it was death. 

And Prince Andrei was dying. 

But at the very instant that he seemed to be dying, Prince 
Andrei remembered that he was asleep, and at the very instant’ 
that he was dying, he made one last effort and awoke. 

“Yes, that was death. I died —I woke up. Yes, death is 
an awakening.” 

This thought suddenly flashed through his soul, and the veil 
which till then had covered the unknown was lifted from be: 
fore his spiritual eyes. He felt as 1t were a deliverance from 
the bonds which before had fastened him down, and that) 
strange buoyancy that henceforth did not forsake hin. 

When he woke in a cold sweat and stirred on his couch, and 
Natasha came to him and asked him what was the matter, he 
made no reply, and, not understanding what she said, gave her 
a strange look. Ys 

This was what had taken place two days before the Princess 





WAR AND PEACE. 67 


 Mariya’s arrival. From that day, as the doctor said, his slow 
fever took a turn for the worse, but Natasha had no need to 
depend on what the doctor said: she could see for herself those 
terrible moral symptoms which allowed less and less room for 
doubt. | 

From that time forth began for Prince Andrei, simultane- 
| ously with the awakening from his dream, the awakening from 
life. And, considering the length of life, this seemed to him 
‘no slower than the awakening from the dream when com- 
pared to the length of his nap. 

There was nothing terrible and nothing cruel in this rela- 
tively slow awakening. 
| The last days and hours glided away peacefully and simply. 

Both the Princess Mariya and Natasha, who staid constantly 
by his side, felt this. They wept not, they trembled not, and 
the last part of the time, as they themselves realized, they 
Were watching, not the man himself, — for he was no more, he 
aad gone from them, — but simply the most immediate remem- 
srance of him, simply his body. 

The feelings of both were ‘so strong that the external, ter- 

‘ible side of death had no effect upon them, and they found it 
tunecessary to give vent to their grief. They wept neither 
n his presence nor when away from him, and they never 
alked about him among themselves. They felt that they 
ould not express in words what was real to their under- 
tandings. 
. They both saw how he was sinking, deeper and deeper, 
lowly and peacefully away from them into the whither, and 
‘hey both knew that this was inevitable and that it was well. 
le was shrived and partook of the sacrament. All came to 
‘id him farewell. 

When his little son was brought, he kissed him and turned 
Way, not because his heart was sore and filled with pity (the 
‘Tincess Mariya and Natasha understood this), but simply 
¢ause he supposed that this was all that was required of 
(m. But when he was told that he should give him his 
essing, he did what was required of him, and looked around 
‘though asking whether it were necessary to do anything 
ore. 7 
When the last gentle spasms shook the body, as it was 
“serted by the spirit, the princess and Natasha were present. 
Tt is over!” said the Princess Mariya, after his body had 
in motionless and growing cold for several moments. Na- 
‘sha came to the couch, looked into his dead eyes, and made 


} 





68 WAR AND PEACE. 


haste to close them. She closed them and kissed them not, 
but reverently kissed that which had been the most imme- 
diate remembrance of him. 

«Where has he gone? Where is he now?” 

When the mortal frame, washed and clad, lay in the coffin 
on the table, they all went in to say farewell, and all shed 
tears. 

Nikolushka wept from the tormenting perplexity that tore 
his young heart. 

he countess and Sonya wept from sympathy for Natasha, 
and because he was no more. 

The old count wept because very soon, as it seemed to him, 
he also would have to tread this terrible path. 

Natasha and the princess also wept now, but they wept 
not because of their own personal sorrow ; they wept from a 
reverent emotion which took possession of their souls in 
presence of the simple and solemn mystery of death, which 
had been accomplished before their eyes. 





PART SECOND. 
CHAPTER I. 


_ THE association of cause and effect is something beyond the 
comprehension of the human mind. But the impulse to search 
‘into causes is inherent in man’s very nature. And the human 
intellect, unable to search the infinite variety and complicated 
tangle of conditions accompanying phenomena, —every one 
of which may seem to be the ultimate cause, — seizes upon 
the first and most obvious coincidence, and says, “This is the 
cause !” 

_ In historical events where the acts of men are the object of 
investigation, that which first suggests itself seems to be the 
will of the gods; then the will of those men who stand in the 
forefront of historical prominence — historical heroes, 

But it requires only to penetrate into the essence of any 
ustorical event, that is, the activity of the whole mass of the 
eople who took part in the event, to become convinced that 
ihe will of the historical hero not only did not guide the actions 
if the masses, but, on the contrary, was constantly guided by 
hem. 

It would seem as though it were a matter of indifference 
vhether the significance of an historical event were explained 
h one way or another. But between the man who should say 
hat the nations of the west marched against the east because 
Vapoleon wished them to do so, and the man who should say 
hat this happened because it had to happen, there is as wide 
difference as between men who are convinced that the earth 
fands fixed and that the planets move around it, and those 
ho assert that they know not what holds the earth, but they 
now that there are laws which govern the motion of the 
arth and the other planets. 

The causes of historical events can be nothing else than the 

uly cause of all causes. But there are laws which govern 
rents, and some of them are unknown to us, and some of 
tem we have investigated. The discovery of these causes is 
ssible only when we repudiate the idea that these causes 
69 





70 WAR AND PEACE. 


may be found in the will of a single man, exactly in the same 
way as the discovery of the laws governing the motions of the } 
planets became possible only when men repudiated the notion | 


of the fixity of the earth. 


















After the battle of Borodino and the occupation of Moscow | 
by the enemy and its destruction by fire, the most important) 
episode of the war of 1812, according to the historians, is the | 
movement of the Russian army from the Riazan road toward | 
the camp of Tarutino by way of the Kaluga road, the so-| 
called flank movement beyond Krasnaya Pakhra. 

Historians ascribe the glory of this stroke of genius t0| 
various individuals, and do not agree upon any one to whom | 
it belongs. Foreign historians, even the French historians, | 
in speaking of this “flank movement,” recognize the genius) 
of the Russian generals. | 

But why military writers and everybody else suppose that; 
this flank movement was the perspicacious invention of any| 
single person, which thus saved Russia and overthrew Napoleon,| 
is something hard to understand. | 

In the first place it is hard to understand in what consists! 
the perspicacity and genius displayed by this movement, for| 
it does not require a great intellectual effort to see that the 
best position for an army when not enduring attacks is where, 
there is the greatest abundance of supplies. And any one, 
even a dull boy of thirteen, might suppose that in 1812 the 
most advantageous position for the Russian army after the 
retreat from Moscow was on the road to Kaluga. Thus it 1§| 
impossible in the first place to understand by what arguments 
historians persuade themselves that they see perspicacity 11) 
this manoeuvre. | 

In the second place it is still more difficult to understan¢ 
exactly how historians attribute the salvation of the Russiai 
and the destruction of the French to this manceuvre ; for i 
this “flank movement” had been carried out under other con 
ditions, preceding, accompanying, or following, it might hav 
brought about the destruction of the Russian army and ti 
salvation of the French. Even though the situation of th 
Russian army began to improve from the time that this move 

ment was effectuated, still it does not follow that this mové 
ment was the cause of it. 

This flank movement not only might not have brougl 
any advantage, but might even have been fatal to the Russia 
army had there not been a coincidence of other conditions. 

i eae 


WAR AND PEACE. 71 


What would have happened if Moscow had not been burned ? 
If Murat had not lost sight of the Russians? If Napoleon 
had not remained inactive? If at Krasnaya Pakhra the 

Russian army had followed the advice of Benigsen and Bar- 
clay, and given battle ? 
__ What would have happened if the French had attacked the 
‘Russians when they were on the march beyond Pakhra ? 
What would have happened if Napoleon, after approaching 
Tarutino, had attacked the Russians with even a tenth part 
of the energy with which he had attacked at Smolensk ? 
What would have happened if the French had marched 
toward Petersburg ? — 
___Inany one of these suppositions, the flank movement, instead 
of being the salvation of Russia, might have been a disaster. 

In the third place, most incomprehensible of all it is that 

those who make a study of history are unwilling to see that 
it is impossible to attribute the flank movement to any par- 
ticular person, that no one could ever have foreseen it, that this 
‘manceuvre, like the retreat to Fili, never presented itself to 
anybody in its totality, but, step by step, event by event, 
moment by moment, it came about as the result of an infinite 
number of most heterogeneous conditions, and it appeared 
clearly in its totality only when it had been consummated and 
‘Was an accomplished fact. 

__ At the council of war held at Fili among the Russian gen- 
erals the predominant opinion was for retreat by the most 
direct and obvious route, the Nizhni-Novgorod road. This 
is proved by the fact that the majority of votes at the council 
were thrown in favor of this plan, and above all by the con- 
versation that occurred after the council between the com- 
mander-in-chief and Lanskoi, who was in charge of the 
commissary department. 

_ Lanskoi informed the commander-in-chief that the army 
Stores were concentrated principally along the Oka in the 
‘provinces of Tula and Kazan, and that in case of retreat 
‘apon Nizhni, the army would be separated from its stores by 
the great river Oka, which, during the first stages of winter, 
it would be impossible to cross with supplies. 
This was the first indication of the necessity for renouncing 
‘the plan of a direct retreat to Nizhni, which at first had seemed 
she most natural. . 
' The army kept farther to the south, on the road to Riazan, 
50 as to be nearer its base of supplies. 
Afterwards the inactivity of the French, who seemed even to 


| 





72 WAR AND PEACE. 


have lost sight of the Russian army, the work of protecting © 
the arsenal at Tula, and above all the advantage of proximity © 
to its supplies, compelled the Russian army to move still | 
farther to the south along the Tula road. : 

When at length Pakhra had been passed by this bold move- : 
ment along the Tula road, the chiefs of the Russian army — 
thought of halting at Podolsk, and there was no idea at all of 
taking up a position at Tarutino; but an infinite number of 
circumstances — the re-appearance of the French army, which — 
before had lost the Russians out of sight, and plans of battle, 
and above all the abundance of stores at Kaluga— compelled | 
our army still more to swerve to the southward, and, taking a | 
route right through the midst of its abundance, to cross over 
from the Tula road to the Kaluga road and approach Tarutino. © 

Just as it is impossible to answer the question when Moscow 
was abandoned, so it is impossible to tell when and by whom 
it was decided to go to Tarutino. 

Only when the troops had already reached Tarutino, by 
reason of an infinite number of differentiated efforts, then 
men began to persuade themselves that this had been their 
wish and their long predetermination. 


CHAPTER II. 


Tur celebrated flank movement consisted simply in this : — 
The Russian army, which had been retreating straight back 
as the invaders pushed forward, turned aside from the straight 
direction when they saw the French no longer pursuing, and 
naturally took the direction in which they were attracted 
by an abundance of supplies. 

If there had not been men of genius at the head of the 
Russian army, if it had been merely an army without generals, 
it could have done nothing else than return to Moscow, de- 
scribing a semicircle in that direction where there were more 
provisions and where the country was richer. ' 

The change of route from the Nizhni road toward the 
Riazan, Tula, and Kaluga roads was so natural that the 
foragers of the Russian army took that very direction, and 
that very direction was the one in which Kutuzof was ordered 
from Petersburg to conduct his army. 

At Tarutino, Kutuzof received almost a reproach from the 
sovereign because he had led his army in the direction of 
Riazan, and he was ordered to { ke up the very position relative 





WAR AND PEACE. 73 


to Kaluga, which he was already occupying at the time when 
he received the letter from the sovereign. 

The Russian army, like a ball which had been rolling in the 
direction of the blow given it all through the campaign and 
especially at the battle of Borodino, assumed its natural posi- 
tion of stable equilibrium, as soon as the force of the blows 

diminished and no new ones were communicated. 

Kutuzof’s merit lay not in what is called the genius of 
strategical manceuvres, but simply in the fact that he was the 
only one who understood the meaning of what was taking 
place about him. 

___ He alone understood what the inactivity of the French army 
‘signified, he alone persisted in declaring that the battle 
of Borodino was a victory for the Russians. He alone —the 
very man who, it would seem, from his position as commander- 
in-chief, ought to have been disposed to favor objective meas. 
‘ures — used all his power to restrain the Russian army from 
‘undertaking useless battles. 
_ The Beast wounded at Borodino lay where it had been 
left by the escaping huntsman; but whether it was alive, 
or whether it still had strength left, or whether it was hiding 
itself, the huntsman knew not. 

Suddenly was heard this wild beast’s ery. 

The cry of this wounded beast, —the French army, — the 
betrayal of its destruction, was the sending of Lauriston to 
Kutuzof’s camp with a request for peace. | 

Napoleon, with his conviction that whatever it occurred to 
him to do was as right as right could be, wrote to Kutuzof the 
first words that entered his mind, and entirely lacking in 
sense. 


“Prince Kutuzof,’”’ he wrote, “I send you one of my general aides 
to discuss with you on various matters of interest. I wish your high- 
ness to repose confidence in what he will say, especially when he ex- 
presses the sentiments of esteem and respect which I have long felt for 
Yyoupersonally. This letter having no other purpose, I pray God, prince, 
that he have you in His holy and beneficent care. 

Moscow, Oct. 30, 1812. 
| Signed, NAPOLEON.” * 


* “Monsieur le Prince Koutouzov! j’envoie pres de vous un de mes aides de 
‘camp généraux pour vous entretenir de plusieurs objets intéressants. Je 
désire que votre Altesse ajoute foi a ce qwil lui dira, surtout lorsqu’il 
eaprimera les sentiments d’estime et de particuliére considération que j’at 
depuis longtemps pour sa personne. Cette lettre n’étant a autre Jin, je prie 
be ae Monsieur Prince Koutouzov, qwil vous ait en Sa sainie et ‘digne 
garde. 
| Moscou, le 30 Octobre, 1812. 
Signé, NAPOLEON.” 


14 WAR AND PEACE. | 


“TI should be cursed by posterity if I were regarded as the 
first to move toward any compromise. Such is the spirit of 
our people,” * replied Kutuzof, and he continued to put forth 
all his energies to keep his troops from an attack. 

During the month spent by the French army in the pillage 
of Moscow, and by the Russian army in tranquil recuperation 
at Tarutino, a change had taken place in the relative strength 
of the two armies, —their spirit and effective, —the result of 
which redounded to the advantage of the Russians. 

Although the condition of the French army and its effective 
were unknown to the Russians, yet as soon as the relative po- 
sition was changed, the inevitability of an attack was shown 
by a multitude of symptoms. | 

These symptoms were the sending of Lauriston and the 
abundance of provisions at Tarutino, and the reports coming 
in from all sides of the inactivity, lack of order, of the French, 
and the filling-up of our regiments with recruits, and the fine 
weather, and the long rest accorded to the Russian soldiers, 
and the general impatience caused among the troops by the 
long rest, and their desire to finish. the work for which they 
had been brought together, and the curiosity about what was 
going on in the French army, which had lost them out 
of sight so long, and the audacity with which now the Rus- 
sian outposts skirmished around the French stationed at Taru- 
tino, and the news of easy victories over the French won by 
Russian muzhiks and “partisans,” and the jealousy aroused 
by this, and the desire of vengeance kindled in every man’s 
soul from the moment that the French occupied Moscow, and, 
above all, the indefinite but genuine consciousness that filled 
the heart of every soldier that the relative positions were re- 
versed, and the superiority was on our side. , 

The material relations were changed, and the attack was be- 
coming inevitable. And instantly, just as the chime of bells 
in the clock begin to strike and to play when the hand has 
accomplished its full circuit of the hour, so in the higher 
circles, by the correspondingly essential correlation of forces, 
the increased motion was effectuated, — the whizzing of wheels 
and the playing of the chfmes. 7 


* << Je serais maudit par la posterité si lon me regardait comme le premier 
- moteur dun accommodement quelconque. Tel est Vesprit actuel de ma nation.” 


WAR AND PEACE. 15 


CHAPTER III. 


| Tuer Russian army was directed by Kutuzof and his staff, 
and by the sovereign, who was at Petersburg. 

Even before news of the abandonment of Moscow had 
reached Petersburg, a circumstantial plan of the whole war 
had been drawn up and sent to Kutuzof for his guidance. 
‘Although the plan was made with the presupposition that 
(Moscow was still in our hands, it was approved by Kutuzof’s 
staff and accepted as the basis of action. 

__ Kutuzof merely wrote that plans made ata distance were 
always hard to carry out. And then further instructions, 
meant to solve the difficulties that might arise, were sent, 
and individuals charged to watch his movement and to send 
oack reports. 

_ Moreover, at this time great changes were made in the staff 
of the Russian army. They had to fill the places of Bagra- 
ion, who had been killed, and of Barclay, who, considering 
‘umself insulted, had resigned. 

They debated with perfect seriousness what would be best: 
io put A in the place of B, and B in the place of D, or, 
mm the contrary, to put D in the place of A, and so on; as 
‘hough anything else than the pleasure given to A and B 
jould depend on this. 

' In the army staff, owing to the animosity between Kutuzof 
md Benigsen, his chief of staff, and the presence of the sov- 
‘Teign’s inspectors, and these changes, there arose a much more 
han usually complicated play of party intrigues; by all pos- 
‘ible plans and combinations A was undermining the authority 
‘TB, and D that of ©, and so on. 

_ In all these operations the object of their intrigues was for 
‘he most part the war which all these men thought they were 
onducting, but all the while the war was going on independ- 
‘otly of them in its own destined way, that is, never con- 
wrming to the schemes of these men, but resulting from the 
sal relations of masses. All these schemes, crossing and 
onflicting, merely represented in the higher spheres the faith- 
u reflection of what had to be accomplished. 

On October 14, the sovereign wrote the following letter, 


hich was received by Kutuzof after the battle of Taru. 
no: — 





76 WAR AND PEACE. 


Prince Mikhail Ilarionovitch ! — 

Since September 14, Moscow has been in the hands of the enemy. 
Your latest reports are dated October 2; and in all this time not only 
nothing has been done in the way of a demonstration against the enemy 
and to deliver the first capital, but according to your last reports you 
have been retreating again. Serpukhof is already occupied by a detach- 
ment of the enemy, and Tula, with its famous arsenal so indispensable 
to the army, is in peril. 

From General Winzengerode’s report, I see that a body of the enemy, 
of ten thousand men, is moving along the Petersburg road. Another of 
several thousand men is marching upon Dmitrovo. A third is advancing 
on the road to Vladimir. A fourth, of considerable size, is between. 
Ruza and Mozhaisk. Napoleon himself, on the 7th, was at Moscow. 

Since, according to all this information, the enemy has scattered his 
forces in strong detachments, since Napoleon himself is still at Moscow 
with his Guard, is it possible that the strength of the enemy before you 
has been too great to prevent you from taking the offensive ? 

One might assume, on the contrary, with certainty that he would pur- 
sue you with detachments, or at least by an army corps far weaker than 
the army which you command. 

It seems as if, profiting by these circumstances, you might with ad- 
vantage have attacked an enemy weaker than yourself, and exterminated 
him, or, at least, by obliging him to retire, have regained a great part of 
the province now occupied by the enemy, and at the same time have 
averted the peril of ‘Tula and our other cities of the interior. 

On your responsibility it will rest if the enemy send a considerable 
body of troops to Petersburg to threaten this capital, which is almost 
destitute of troops; for, with the army confided to you, if you act with 
firmness and celerity, you have all the means needed to avert this new 
misfortune. 

Bear in mind that you are still bound to answer before an insulted 
country for the loss of Moscow! 

You have already had proof of my readiness to reward you. This 
good will shall not grow less, but I and Russia have a right to demané 
from you all the zeal, fortitude, and success that your intellect, your 
military talents, and the gallantry of the troops under your command, 
assure US. 


But while this letter, which shows how the state of things 
was regarded in Petersburg, was on its way, Kutuzof coulc 
no longer restrain the army which he commanded from taking 
the offensive, and the battle had already been fought. 

On October 14, a Cossack, Shapovalof, while on patrol duty. 
killed one hare and shot at another. In pursuing the woundec 
hare, Shapovalof struck into the forest at some distance anc 
stumbled upon the left flank of Murat’s army, which was e1 
camped without outposts. 

The Cossack laughingly told his comrades how he hac 
almost fallen into the hands of the French. A cornet whe 
heard this tale told it to his commander. 

The Cossack was sent for and questioned. The Cossacl 
chiefs wished to profit by this chance to get horses; but om 


WAR AND PEACE. TT 


of them, who was acquainted at headquarters, told a staff 
general what had occurred. 

Latterly, the relations of the army staff had been strained 
to the last degree. Yermolof, several days before, had gone to 
Benigsen and implored him to use all his influence with the 
commander-in-chief in favor of assuming the offensive. 
“Tf I did not know you,” replied Benigsen, “I should think 
that you did not wish what you were asking for. I have only 
to advise anything and his serene highness will do exactly 
the contrary.” | 

The news brought in by the Cossacks being confirmed by 
Scouts sent out, it became evident that the time was ripe for 
action. 

The strained cord broke, and the clock whizzed ‘and the 
thimes began to play. N otwithstanding all his supposed 
oower, his intellect, his experience, and his knowledge of men, 
Kutuzof —taking into consideration Benigsen’s report sent 
lirectly to the sovereign, and the one desire expressed by all 
of his generals, and the sovereign’s supposed wishes, and the 
nformation brought by the Cossacks — could no longer restrain 
| movement that was inevitable, and gave the order for some- 

hing that he regarded as useless and harmful, consented to 
‘nm accomplished fact ! 


CHAPTER IV. 


_ BentaseEn’s note and the report of the Cossacks about the 
covered left flank of the French were only the last symp- 
Ooms that it was absolutely inevitable to give the order for 
Ae attack, and the attack was ordered for October 17. 

On the morning of the sixteenth Kutuzof signed the order 
or the disposition of the troops. Toll read it to Yermolof, 
toposing to him to take charge of the further arrangements. 
“Very good, very good, but I can’t possibly attend to it 
ow,” said Yermolof, and left the room. 

The plan of attack drawn up by Toll was very admirable. 
ast as for the battle of Austerlitz it had been laid down in 
Ae “disposition :” die erste Kolonne marschirt this way and 
lat way, die zweite Kolonne marschirt this way and that way, 
| ere also, only not in German, it was prescribed. where the 
‘st column and the second column should march. 

And all these columns were to unite at a designated time and 
a designated place, and annihilate the enemy. Everything 


k 





78 WAR AND PEACE. 



















was beautifully foreseen and provided for as in all “disposi 
tions,” and as in all “ dispositions ” not a single column was 
in its place at the right time. | 
When the proper number of copies had been made of the | 
order, an officer was summoned and sent to Yermolof, to give 
him the papers that he might do the business. | 
A young cavalry officer, Kutuzot’s orderly, delighted with | 
the important commission, hastened to Yermolof’s lodgings. | 
“He is out,” replied Yermolof’s servant. | 
The cavalry officer went to the lodgings of the general in| 
whose company Yermolof was frequently found. | 
“No, —and the general is also out.” 
The cavalry officer, mounting his horse, went to still| 
another. | | 
“No, gone out.” ; | 
“ Hope I sha’n’t be held accountable for the delay. What} 
a nuisance!” said the officer to himself. He rode entirely | 
around the camp. One man declared that Yermolof had beet| 
seen driving off somewhere with some other generals ; another| 
said that he was probably at home again. | 
The officer, without even taking time to eat his dinner;) 
searched till six o’clock. Yermolof was nowhere to be found, | 
and no one knew where he was. The officer took a hasty| 
supper at a comrade’s, and started off once more, this time| 
in search of Miloradovitch, who was with the advance euarcl| 
Miloradovitch also was not at home, but there he was told) 
that Miloradovitch was at a ball given by General Kikin, and, 
that Yermolof was probably there also. 
«“ And where is that ? ” 
“ Over yonder at Yetchkino,” said a Cossack officer, indicat| 
ing the estate of a landed proprietor at some distance. | 
« But how is that? It’s beyond the lines!” | 
“Two regiments of ours were sent up to the lines, anc 
they’re having a spree there this evening; that’s just the mis| 
chief of it! Two bands, three choirs of regimental singers.” | 
The officer crossed the lines to Yetchkino. While still @ 
long way off, as he rode toward the mansion, he heard tlw’ 
jovial, reckless sounds of the soldiers’ choragic song. | 
“ Vo-obluziakh — vo-obluziakh!” rang the meaningles} 
words of the song, mingled with whistling and the sound: 
of the torban,* occasionally drowned out by the roar 0 
voices. | 
These jolly sounds made the officer’s heart beat faster, ba 


* A kind of musical instrument. 


z WAR AND PEACE. 79 


at the same time he was terribly aiarmed lest he should be 
blamed for having been so long in delivering the weighty 
message which had been intrusted to him. 

It was already nine o’clock in the evening. He dismounted 
and climbed the steps of the great mansion, which had been 
preserved intact, though it was situated between the French 
‘and the Russians. Servants were flying about in the dining. 
‘room and the anteroom with wines and refreshments. The 
‘Singers stood under the windows. 
| The officer was shown in, and he suddenly caught sight of 
‘all the most distinguished generals of the army gathered 
‘together, and in their number he recognized the tall, well- 
‘known figure of Yermolof. All the generals wore their uni- 
form-coats unbuttoned ; their faces were flushed and full of 
excitement, and they were laughing noisily as they stood 
‘round in a semicircle. In the middle of the room a hand. 
‘some, short general with a red face was skilfully and vigo- 
rously dancing the triepakd. 
| “Ha! ha! ha! bravo! at da /— Nikolai Ivanovitch! ha! 
‘ha! ha!” —— , 

_ The officer felt that to come in at such a moment with an 
important order he should be doubly in the wrong, and he 
wanted to wait; but one of the generals caught sight of him, 
and, understanding why he had come, called Yermolof’s atten- 
tion to him. Yermolof, with a frowning face, advanced to the 
Officer, and, after listening to his story, took from him the 
paper, without saying a word. 

_ “Perhaps you think that it was a mere accident that he 
had gone off ?” said a staff comrade to the cavalry officer, in 
reference to Yermolof. 

“Twas a joke! it was all cut and dried. It was to play it 
on Konovnitsuin. See what a stew there’ll be to-morrow!” 





CHAPTER V. 


On the following day, Kutuzof was awakened early in the 
norning, prayed to God, dressed, and, with the disagreeable 
sonsciousness that he was obliged to direct an engagement 
of which he did not approve, took his seat in his calash, and 
tom Letashevka, five versts behind Tarutino, drove to the 
‘slace where the attacking columns were to rendezvous. As 
1e was driven along he kept dozing and awakening again, all 





80 WAR AND PEACE. 


the time listening if he could hear the sounds of firing at the 
right, and if the battle had begun. 

But as yet all was silent. A damp and gloomy autumn morn- 
ing was only just beginning to dawn. On reaching Tarutino, 
he noticed some cavalrymen who were leading their horses to 
water beyond the road along which the calash was driven. 
Kutuzof looked at these cavalrymen, stopped the calash, and 
asked to what regiment they belonged. These cavalrymen 
belonged to the column which should have long before been. 
far forward in ambush. 

“A mistake, perhaps,” thought the old commander-in-chief. 

But when he had driven a little farther, Kutuzof saw some 
infantry regiments with stacked arms, the soldiers in their 
drawers, cooking their kasha and getting firewood. 

An officer was summoned. The officer reported that no 
orders had been received about any attack. 

“ How could it ” — Kutuzof began, but he instantly checked 
himself, and ordered the senior officer to be brought to him. 

He got out of his calash, and walked back and forth, with 
sunken head, drawing long sighs ‘as he silently waited. When 
Eichen, an officer of the general staff, who had been sent for, 
appeared, Kutuzof grew livid with rage, not because this 
officer was to blame for the blunder, but because he was a 
convenient scapegoat for his wrath. Trembling and panting, 
the old man, who was falling into that state of fury which 
sometimes would cause him to roll on the ground in his! 
paroxysm, attacked Eichen, threatening him with his fists, 
screaming, and loading him with the grossest abuse. Another 
officer who happened to be present, Captain Brozin, though in 
no respect to blame, came in also for his share. 

“These wretched dogs! Let ’em be shot! Scoundrels !”’ 
he hoarsely screamed, gesticulating and reeling. He suffered 
physical pain. He, the commander-in-chief, “his highness,” 
who, as every one believed, held more power than any one in 
Russia had ever before possessed, how came he, he, to be 
placed in such a position —to be made the laughing-stock of 
the whole army! 

“Was it all in vain that I tried so hard to pray for to-day, 
all in vain that I passed a sleepless night and planned and 
pianned ?” he asked himself. “When I was a mere little 
chit of an officer,* no one would have dared to turn me into 
ridicule so — but now ?” — 

He suffered physical pain, as though from corporal punish: 

* Malchishka-ofitser. 


WAR AND PEACE. | 81 


ment, and he could not help expressing it in cries of pain and 
fury : but soon his strength began to fail him, and he took his 
seat in his calash, looking around with the consciousness 
that he had said much that was unseemly, and silently rode 
back. 

_ His fury was spent, and returned no more; and, feebly 
blinking his eyes, Kutuzof listened to Benigsen, Konovnitsuin, 
and Toll, — Yermolof kept out of sight for a day or two, — and. 
their excuses and words of justification, and their urgent 
representations that the movement which had so miscarried 
should be postponed till the following day. And Kutuzof 
was obliged to consent. 


CHAPTER VI. 


On the following evening, the troops rendezvoused in the 
Jesignated places, and moved during the night. 
_ it was an autumn night, with dark purple clouds, but no 
rain. The ground was moist, but there was no mud, and 
‘roops proceeded noiselessly ; ‘the only sound was the occa- 
sional dull clanking of the artillery. The soldiers were strin- 
zently forbidden to talk above a whisper, to smoke their pipes, 
50 strike a light; even the horses refrained from neighing. 
The mysteriousness of the enterprise enhanced the fascination 
of it. The men marched blithely. Several of the columns 
jalted, stacked their arms, and threw themselves down on 
che cold ground, supposing that they had reached their des- 
sination ; others —the majority — marched the whole night, 
md came to a place that was obviously not their destination. 
Count Orlof-Denisof with his Cossacks —the smallest de- 
sachment of all the others— was the only one who reached 
che right place and at the right time. This detachment was 
Aalted at the very skirt of the forest, on the narrow footpath 
hat led between the villages of Stromilova and Dimitrovskoye. 
Before dawn, Count Orlof, who had fallen asleep, was aroused. 
‘A deserter from the French camp had been brought in. This 
vas a Polish non-commissioned officer from Poniatowsky’s 
iorps. This non-commissioned officer explained in Polish 
‘hat he had deserted because he had been insulted in the 
rench service, that he ought long before to have been pro- 
noted to be an officer, that he was the bravest cf them all, 
nd therefore he had given them up, and was anxious to have 
his revenge on them. He declared that Murat was spending 

VoL. 4.—6. 





82 WAR AND PEACE. 


the night only a verst from there, and that if they would give 
him an escort of a hundred men he would take him alive. 

Count Orlof-Denisof consulted with his comrades. The 
proposal was too attractive to be refused. All offered to go; 
all advised to make the attempt. After many discussions and. 
calculations, Major-General Grekof, with two regiments of Cos- 
sacks, decided to go with the non-commissioned officer. : 

“Now mark my word,” said Count Orlof-Denisof to the: 
Pole, as he dismissed him; “in case you have lied, I will 
have you hanged like a dog; but if you have told the truth — 
a hundred ducats !” ; 

The non-commissioned officer with a resolute face made no 
reply to these words, leaped into the saddle, and rode off with 
Grekof, who had swiftly mustered his men. 

They vanished in the forest. 

Count Orlof, pinched by the coolness of the morning, which. 
was now beginning to break, excited and made anxious by the 
responsibility which he had incurred in letting Grekof go, 
went out a little from the forest and began to reconnoitre the 
enemy’s camp, which could be seen now dimly in the light of 
the dawn and the dying watch-fires. 

At Count Orlof’s right, on an open declivity, our columns 
were to show themselves. Count Orlof glanced in that diree- 
tion; but, although they would have been visible for a long 
distance, these columns were not in sight. But in the French 
camp, it seemed to Count Orlof-Denisof, who also put great 
confidence in what his clear-sighted adjutant said, there were: 
signs of life. | 

“Akh! too late!” said Count Orlof, as he gazed at the camp. 

Just as often happens when a man in whom we have 
reposed confidence is no longer under our eyes, it suddenly 
seemed to him clear and beyond question that the Polish non- 
commissioned officer was a traitor, that he had deceived them, 
and the whole attack was going to be spoiled by the absence 
of the two regiments which this man had led off no one knew 
where. “How could they possibly seize the commander-in- 
chief from among such a mass of troops!” “Of course he 
lied, that scoundrel!” exclaimed the count. 1 

“We can call them back,” said one of the suite, who, exactly 
like Count Orlof-Denisof, felt a distrust in the enemy on see- 
ing the camp. 

“Ha? So?—What do youthink? Shall we let them go 
on, or not?” gs 

“Do you order, them called back ?” 





WAR AND PEACE. 83 


_ “Yes, call them back, call them back,” cried Count Orlof, 
eoming to a sudden decision, and looking at his watch. “It 
would be too late; it’s quite light.” 

And the adjutant galloped off through the forest after 
Grekof. When Grekof returned, Count Orlof-Denisof, excited 
both by the failure of this enterprise and by his disappoint- 
ment at the non-arrival of the infantry columns, which had 
not even yet showed up, and by the proximity of the enemy 
ull the men of his division experienced the same thing — de: 
sided to attack. 

_ He gave the whispered command: “To horse !” 

They fell into their places. They crossed themselves. — 
“S Bogom !— Away!” 

“ Hurra-a-a-a-ah !” rang through the forest, and the sotnias 
yr Cossack companies, one after another, as though poured out 
ft a sack, flew, with lances poised, across the brook against the 
samp. 

' One desperate, startled yell from the first Frenchman who 
saw the Cossacks, and all in the camp, suddenly awakened 
‘rom their dreams, fled undressed in all directions, abandoning 
iheir artillery, their muskets, and their horses. 

Ii the Cossacks had followed the French without heeding 
what was back of them and around them, they would have 
vaptured Murat and his whole staff. This was what the offi- 
‘ers wanted. But it was an impossibility to make the Cos- 
iacks stir when once they had begun to occupy themselves 
vith the booty and their prisoners. No one would heed the 
vord of command. ; 

_ Fifteen hundred prisoners were captured, thirty-eight can- 
ions, flags, and — what was more important than all for the 
Jossacks — horses, saddles, blankets, and various articles. 
Chey must needs oversee all this, secure the prisoners and 
he cannon, divide the spoils, shout, and even quarrel among 
hemselves: with all this the Cossacks were busying them- 
elves. : 

_ The French, finding that they were no longer pursued, came 
0 their senses, formed their lines, and began to fire. Orlof- 
Jenisof was all the time expecting the infantry columns, and 
‘efrained from further offensive action. 

Meantime, according to the “disposition” by which die erste 
folonne marschirt, and so on, the infantry forces of the belated. 
-olumns, commanded by Benigsen and led by Toll, had set out 
ecording to orders, but, as always happens, had come out some- 
where, but not at the place where they ought to have been. 





84 WAR AND PEACE. 


As it always happens, the men who had started out blithely 
began to straggle. Tokens of dissatisfaction were shown; 
there was the consciousness that a blunder had been made; 
they started back in another direction. 

Adjutants and generals were galloping about and shouting, 
scolding, and quarrelling, and declaring that they were wrong, 
and that they were too late, and trying to find some one to 
reprimand, and so on, and finally they all waved their hands, 
and marched on simply for the purpose of going somewhere. | 

“Come, let us go somewhere !” 

And in fact they went somewhere, but some of them went 
in the wrong direction, and those who went in the right direc- 
tion arrived so late that they did no good in coming, but sim- 
ply became targets for musket-shots ! 

Toll, who in this battle played the part that Weirother 
played at Austerlitz, diligently galloped from place to place, 
and everywhere found everything at loose ends. For in 
stance, just before it was quite daylight, he found Bagovut’s 
corps in the woods, thaugh this corps should have been with 
Orlof-Denisof long before. Exasperated and excited by the 
failure of the movement, and supposing that some one must 
be to blame for this, Toll dashed up to the corps commander 
and began sternly berating him, declaring that he ought to be 
shot for this. 

Bagovut (an old general, gallant but placid), who was also 
exasperated by all these delays, this confusion, and by contra- 
dictory orders, fell into a fury, much to the surprise of every 
one, for it was contrary to his nature, and said disagreeable 
things to Toll: — 

“T will not be lectured by any one! I and my men can die 
as well, as bravely, as others!” said he, and he moved forward 
with only one division. 

When he reached the field, swept by the French fire, the 
gallant and excited Bagovut, not stopping to consider whether 
(at such a time and with only one division) his participation 
in the action would be advantageous or not, marched straight 
ahead and led his troops under the fire. Peril, shot, and shell 
were the very things that he required in his angry mood. 
Almost the first thing a bullet killed him; succeeding bullets 
killed many of his men. And this division remained for 
some time needlessly under fire. 





WAR AND PEACE. 85 


CHAPTER VII. 


MEANTIME, at the front another column should have been 
attacking the French, but Kutuzof was present with this col- 
‘umn. He knew perfectly well that nothing but confusion 
‘would result from this battle, which was undertaken against 
‘his will, and he held back his troops as much as he could. 
He did not stir. 

_ Kutuzof rode silently on his gray cob, indolently replying 
to those who proposed to attack, — 

| “ All of you are very ready to say the word attack, but don’t 
‘you see that we can’t make complicated manceuvres ?” said 
he to Miloradovitch, who asked permission to move forward. 

* You weren’t smart enough this morning to take Murat: 
you were quite too late; now there is nothing to be done,” he 
replied to another. 

When the report was brought to Kutuzof that there were 
‘now two battalions of Poles back of the French, where before, 
‘according to the report of the Cossacks, there had been no 
‘troops, he gave Yermolof aside glance. He had not spoken 
to him since the day before. 

“This is the way they ask to make attacks; all sorts of 

plans are proposed, and when you come to it, nothing is 
| ready, and the enemy, warned, take their measures.” 
‘ Yermolof screwed up his eyes and slightly smiled as he 
overheard those words. He understood that the storm had 
passed, and that Kutuzof would content himself with this 
imnuendo. “ He is entertaining himself at my expense,” said 
Yermolof im a low tone, touching Rayevsky’s knee. 

Shortly after this, Yermolof approached Kutuzof, and re- 
spectfully made his report : — 

«Tt is not too late yet, your highness: the enemy have not 
‘moved. If you will only give the order to attack! If yow 
don’t, the guards will not have smelt gunpowder!” 

Kutuzof made no reply; but when he was informed that 
Murat’s troops were in retreat, he ordered the attack, but at 
every hundred paces he halted for three- -quarters of an hour. 

The whole battle was summed up in what Orlof-Denisof’s 
Cossacks did: the rest of the troops simply lost several hun- 
men absolutely uselessly. 





As aconsequence of this battle, Kutuzof received a diamond 
order, Benigsen, also, some diamonds and a hundred thousand 


86 WAR AND PEACE. 


rubles; the others, according to their ranks, also received 
many agreeable tokens, and after this battle some further 
changes were made in the staff. 

“That is the way it always goes with us — everything at 
cross-purposes,” said the Russian officers and generals, after 
the battle of Tarutino, just exactly as-is said at the present 
day, giving to understand that there is some stupid person 
responsible for this blundering way, whereas we should have 
done it in quite another way. 

But the men who talk that way either know not what they 
are talking about, or purposely deceive themselves. 

Any battle — Tarutino, Borodino, Austerlitz —is fought in 
a different way from what those who planned for it suppose 
it will be. That is the essential condition. 

An infinite number of uncontrollable forces — for never is 
a man more uncontrollable than in a battle, where it is a 
matter of life or death— and an infinite number of these 
independent forces influence the direction of the battle, and 
this direction can never be foreseen, and will never be gov- 
erned by the direction of any one force whatever. 

If many forces act in different directions upon any particu- 
lar body at the same time, then the direction in which this 
body will move cannot be that of any one of the forces; but 
it will always take a middle direction which is a combina- 
tion of these forces — which in physies is called the diagonal 
of the parallelogram of forces. 

If we find in the writings of the historians, and especially 
of the French historians, that they make wars and battles con- 
form to any prescribed plan, then the only conclusion which 
we can draw from this is that their descriptions are not to be 
relied upon. 

The battle of Tarutino evidently failed of attaining the 
object which Toll had in mind, — to lead the troops into the 
battle in proper order according to the “ disposition ;” ox 
the object which Count Orlof may have had in mind, —to take 
Murat prisoner; or that which Benigsen and many others 
may have had,—of destroying the whole corps at a single 
blow; or the object of the officer who wished to fall in the 
battle and distinguish himself, or that of the Cossack who 
was desirous of getting more booty than he got, and so on. 

But if the object of the battle was what actually resulted, 
and which, at that time, was the chief desire of all the Rus- 
sians, —the driving of the French from Russia and the 
destruction of their army, —then it is perfectly clear that the 





| WAR AND PEACE. 87 


5 
battle of Tarutino, precisely in consequence of its absurdity, 
‘was the very thing that was necessary at that period-of the 
campaign. 

_ Itis hard, nay, it is impossible, to imagine anything more 
favorable as the outcome of that battle than what actually 
jresulted from it. With the very slightest effort, in spite of 
she most extraordinary confusion, with the most insignificant 
‘oss, the most important results of the whole campaign were 
attained; a change from retreat to advance was made, the 
weakness of the French was manifested, and that impulse was 
2sommunicated to the Napoleonic army which alone was needed 
0 make them begin their retreat. 


‘ 
| CHAPTER VIII. 
_ Napotron enters Moscow after the brilliant victory de la 
\Moskowa ; there can be no doubt that it is a victory, since 
‘he French remain masters of the field of battle ! 
. The Russians retreat and give up their capital. Moscow, 
stored with provisions, arms, ammunition, and infinite riches, 
alls into the hands of Napoleon. | 
. The Russian army, twice as weak as the French, during a 
whole month makes not a single effort to assume the offensive. 
Napoleon’s situation was most brilliant. Whether, with 
loubly superior forces, he fell upon the remains of the Rus- 
‘lan army and exterminated it; or whether he offered advan- 
jageous terms of peace, or, in case his offer were rejected, 
‘should make a threatening movement upon Petersburg, or 
ven, in case of non-success, he should return to Smolensk, or 
7 Vilno, or whether he should remain in Moscow —in a word, 





whether he should retain the excellent position which the 
¢rench army held, it would seem that no extraordinary genius 
f= demanded. 

_ To do this was necessary only to take the simplest and 
‘asiest way: not to allow the army to pillage, to prepare 
‘inter clothing (there would have been enough in Moscow for 
he whole army), and to make systematic collection of pro- 
isions, which, according to the French historians, were abun- 
ant enough to supply the French troops for half a year. 

_ Napoleon, this genius of geniuses, who had, as historians as- 
ure us, the power to control his army, did nothing of the 
ort... 

He not only did nothing of the sort, but on the contrary he 








BS" te WAR AND PEACE. 


used his power to select out of all possible measures open to 
him the one that was most stupid and the most disastrous. 

Of all that Napoleon might have done, —to winter at Mos- 
cow, to go to Petersburg, to move upon Nizhni-Novgorod, to 
return by a more northerly or southerly route, following 
Kutuzof’s example, — what could be imagined more stupid ov 
more disastrous than what Napoleon actually did? Which was 
this : — 

To remain in Moscow till October, allowing his soldiers to 
pillage the city; and then, after deliberating whether or not 
to leave a garrison behind him, to leave Moscow, to approach) 
Kutuzof, not to give battle, to move to the right as far as 
Malo-Yaroslavetz again without seeking an opportunity ot 
making a route of his own, and, instead of taking the course 
followed by Kutuzof, to retreat toward Mozhaisk along the 
devastated Smolensk highway. A plan more absurd thay) 
this, more pernicious to the army, could not be imagined, as 1s 
fully proved by the results. 

Let the ablest masters of strategy, granting that Napoleon's 
design was to destroy his army, conceive any other plan 
which would so infallibly and so independently of any action 
on the part of the Russian army have so completely destroyec 
the French army as what Napoleon did. 

Napoleon, with all his genius, did this. But to say that 
Napoleon destroyed his army because he wished to destroy it; 
or because he was very stupid, would be just as false as to saj 
that Napoleon led his troops to Moscow because he wished t¢ 
do so and because he was a man of great intelligence anc 
genius. 

In both cases, his personal action, which was of no moré 
consequence than the personal action of any soldier, onl 
coincided with the laws by which phenomena take place. 

It is absolutely false, simply because the consequences dic 
not justify Napoleon’s action, for historians to say that hi 
powers grew weaker at Moscow. 

He employed all his intellect and all his power to do th 
best thing possible for himself and his army, just as he hac 
always done before, and as he did afterwards in 1818. Nap 
leon’s activity at this time was no less amazing than it was 11 
Egypt, in Italy, in Austria, and in Prussia. 

We know not sufficiently well the real state of activity 0 
Napoleon’s genius in Egypt, where forty centuries looke 
down upon his greatness, for the reason that all his great ex 
ploits there were described exclusively by the French. 











WAR AND PEACE. 89 


We cannot rate at its proper value his genius in Austria and 
in Prussia, for with regard to his activity there we must draw 


our information from French and German sources; but the 
‘surrender of army corps without striking a blow, and of forts 


‘without a siege, could not fail to incline the Germans to re- 


| 


gard his genius as the only explanation of the victorious cam- 


paign which he carried on in Germany. 
But, glory to God, we Russians have no reason for acknowl- 


edging the genius of Napoleon in order to hide our shame. 
‘We paid for the right to look at facts simply as they are, and 
this right we will not yield! 

_ _Napoleon’s activity at Moscow was as astonishing and full 


of genius as it was everywhere else. From the time that he 
entered Moscow until he left it, order upon. order and plan 
upon plan emanated from him. ‘The absence of the inhabit- 


ants and of deputations, even the burning of the city, dis- 


turbed him not. He forgot not the welfare of his army, or 
the activity of the enemy, or the good of the people of Russia, 
or the administration of affairs at Paris, or diplomatic com- 
binations concerning the possible conditions of peace. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Iy relation to military matters, Napoleon, immediately on 
entering Moscow, gives strict orders to General Sebastiani to 
watch the movements of the Russian army; sends troops in 
various directions, and orders Murat to pursue Kutuzof. Then 
1e proceeds diligently to fortify the Kreml. Then he traces 
tpon the whole map of Russia a brilliant plan for the rest of 
ihe campaign. 

In relation to diplomatic matters Napoleon sends for the 
“obbed and despoiled Captain Yakovlef, who had not suc- 
‘eeded in getting away from Moscow, and gives him a detailed 
-Xposition of all his political views, and of his magnanimity, 
nd having written a letter to the Emperor Alexander, in which 
te counts it his duty to inform his friend and brother that 
‘ostopchin has behaved very badly at Moscow, he sends Cap- 
‘ain Yakovlef with it to Petersburg. Having, in the same 
‘fay, expressed in detail his views and his magnanimity be- 
wre Tutolmin, he sends this little old man also to Petersburg 
J enter into negotiations. 

In relation to judicial affairs, Napoleon, immediately after 
ae conflagrations, gives orders that: the guilty shall be found 


h 





90 ° WAR AND PEACE. 


and executed; and, to punish the malefactor Rostopchin, 
orders his houses to be set on fire. 

In relation to administrative affairs, Napoleon grants a con- 
stitution to Moscow, organizes the municipal government, and 
published the following : — 


INHABITANTS OF MOSCOW ! 


Your miseries are great, but His Majesty the Emperor and King desires 
to put an end to them. 

Terrible examples have taught you how he punishes disobedience and 
crime. Severe measures have been taken to put an end to disorder ané 
to restore general security. 

A paternal administration, composed of men from among yourselves. 
will constitute your municipality, or city government. This will care fo! 
you, for your needs, for your interests. 

The members thereof will be distinguished by a red scarf, which the} 
will wear over the shoulder, while the mayor* will wear, in addition to the 
scarf, a white belt. 

But when not on duty the members will wear simply a red banc 
around the left arm. 

The municipal police is established upon its former organization, and 
thanks to its vigilance, the best of order already exists. 

The government has named two commissioners-general or politse? 
meisters, and twenty commissioners or tchdstnui pristafs assigned to dif 
ferent portions of the city. You will recognize them by the white banc 
worn around the left arm. 

A number of churches of different denominations are open, and divine 
service is there celebrated without hindrance. 

Your fellow-citizens are daily returning to their dwellings, and order: 
have been given that they shall find the aid and protection due to thei 
misfortune. 

Such are the means which the government is using to restore order ant 
mitigate your position; but to attain this end, you must unite your effort 
with theirs, you must forget, if possible, the misfortunes that you hav 
endured, you must cherish the hope of a less cruel destiny, must be con 
vinced that an inevitable and infamous death awaits all those who mak 
any assault upon your persons or the property that remains to you, ae 
you must not doubt that they will be guarded, for such is the will of tly 
greatest and most just of all monarchs. 

Soldiers and citizens, of whatever nation you may be! — re-establisl 
public confidence, that source of happiness in every state, live lik 
brethren, mutually aid and protect one another, unite to oppose all crimi 
nal manifestations, obey the military and municipal authorities, and sool 
your tears will cease to flow. 


In relation to the provisioning of the army, Napoleon gav 
orders for the troops to take turns in foraging @ la m@ 
raude through the city to procure food, that thus the arm) 
might be secured for the future. 

In relation to religion, Napoleon ordered that the pope 


* Grddskii golovd, head of the city. 


WAR AND PEACE. pou 


‘should be brought back — ramener les popes — and worship be 
re-established in the churches. 
In relation to trade and the provisioning of the army, the 
Biiowing was posted everywhere : — 


PROCLAMATION. 


You, peaceable inhabitants of Moscow, artisans and workmen whom 
‘misfortunes have driven from tLis city, and you, dispersed farmers, who 
‘through unfounded terror remain concealed in the fields, — listen! 

Peace reigns in this capital, and order is re-established within it. 
‘Your compatriots are boldly leaving their retreats, finding that they are 
‘respected. 
| All violence shown to them or their property is immediately punished. 
\ H.M. the Emperor and King protects them, and considers none among 
‘you his enemies except those who disobey his orders. 

He desires to put an end to your misfortunes, and restore you to your 
homes and families. 

Respond to his benevolent intentions, and come to us without fear. 

Inhabitants! 

Return with confidence to your dwellings; you will soon find means of 
Satisfying your wants. 

Mechanics and laborious artisans! 

Come back to your trades: houses, shops, watchmen await you, and 
for your labor you will receive the wage which is your due! 

And you, finally, peasants, come “forth from’ the forests, where you 
have been hiding in fear; return boldly to your cottages, with the firm 
assurance that you will find protection. 

Grain shops have been established in the city, where the peasants may 
bring all their surplus provisions and the products of the soil. 

The government has taken the following measures to assure the free 
‘Sale of these products: — 

_ 1. From this date, peasants, farmers, and the inhabitants of the 
‘suburbs of Moscow, may without danger bring their products, whatever 
i they may be, into town, to the two markets established for the purpose — 
in Mokhovaya Street, and in the Okhotnui Riad. 

2. These products’ will be purchased of them at such prices as may be 
agreed upon between seller and buyer; but if the seller cannot obtain the 
just price demanded, he is free to take his goods back to his village, and 
bE one under any pretext shall prevent him from doing so. 

3. Every Sunday and Wednesday are legalized as ‘‘chief market 
days; M4 Citerore sufficient numbers of soldiers will be placed, Tuesdays 

and Saturdays, in the principal thoroughfares at such a distance from the 
‘tity as to protect the provision trains. 

4, Similar measures will be taken to expedite the return of the 
peasants to their villages with their horses and teams. 

5. Measures will be taken immediately to re-establish the ordinary 
‘markets. 
Inhabitants of the city and the walaeee, and you workmen and arti- 
sans, to whatever nation you may belong! 
We urge you to follow the paternal wishes of H. M. the Emperor and 
King, and co-operate with him for the general welfare. 
pine to his feet respect and confidence, and hesitate not to unite 
with us, 








92 WAR AND PEACE. 


To keep up the spirits of the troops and the people, reviews 
were constantly held and decorations distributed. The em- 
peror rode through the streets on horseback and consoled the 
inhabitants, and, in spite of all his devotion to state matters, 
he visited the theatres established by his orders. 

In relation to charity, that best virtue of crowned heads, 
Napoleon also did al) that could be expected of him. 

He ordered the words Maison de ma mére to be inscribed 
upon the buildings devoted to charity, by this act uniting the 
sentiment of a loving son with the grand virtue of a monarch. 

He visited the Foundling Asylum,* and, allowing his white 
hands to be mouthed by the orphans saved by him, he con- 
versed graciously with Tutolmin. 

Then, according to Thiers’s eloquent narrative, he ordered 
his troops to be paid in counterfeit Russian money which he 
had manufactured ! 

‘“Exalting the employment of these means by an act worthy 
of him and of the French army, he commanded to give aid to 
those who had suffered from the fires. But as provisions were 
too precious to furnish to men of a foreign land, and, for the 
most part, enemies, Napoleon found it better to give thent 
money, and let them procure provisions outside, and he ordered 
paper rubles to be distributed among them.” f 

In relation to the discipline of the army, he constantly 
issued orders threatening severe punishments for all infrac- 
tions of the rules of the service, and to stop pillaging. 


CHAPTER X. 


But, strangely enough, all these arrangements, measures, 
and plans, which were in no respect inferior to those which he 
had taken under similar circumstances, did not touch the 
essence of the matter, but, like the hands of a clock discot- 
nected with the mechanism behind the dial, moved at random 
and aimlessly, having nothing to do with the wheels. 

As for military matters, the plan for the campaign, of 
which Thiers says, “ Napoleon’s genius never imagined any 









* Vospitdtelnui Dom. 

+ ** Relevant Vemploi de ces moyens par un acte digne de lui et de Vvarmée 
francaise, il fit distribuer des secours aux incendiés. Mais les vivres étant trop 
précieux pour étre donnés a des étrangers, la plupart ennemis, Napoléot 
aima mieux leur fournir de Vargent afin qwils se fournissent au dehors, et wl 
leur fit distribuer des roubles papiers.” — THIERS, “ Histoire du consulat et dé 
empire.’ Tom. xiv: . 


WAR AND PEACE. 93 


thing more profound, more skilful, or more admirable,” * and 
which, in his argument with M. Fain, he proves was con- 
ceived, not on the fourth of October, but on the fifteenth of 
that month, — this plan, full of genius as it was, was not and 
could not have been carried out, for it had no basis whatever 
in reality. 

_ The fortifying of the Kreml, to accomplish which it was ne- 
sessary to destroy the mosque, la mosquée, — for so Napoleon 
talled the church of Vasili Blazhennui, — was perfectly un- 
necessary. 

The placing of mines under the Kreml served only to carry 
dut the personal desire of the emperor, who wished, on leav- 
ing Moscow, to see the Kreml blown up, —in other words, that 
she floor upon which the child has hurt himself might be 
deaten. 

The pursuit of the Russian army, which so engrossed Na- 
voleon’s attention, presented a most unheard-of phenomenon. 
[he French generals lost sight of the Russian army, number- 
ng not less than sixty thousand men, and, according to Thiers, 
t was only through Murat’s ability — his genius, one might 
say — that the French succeeded in discovering, like a needle 
na haystack, the Russian army, sixty thousand strong! 

As for diplomatic matters, all Napoleon’s declarations of 
nagnanimity and justice, made to Yakovlef and to Tutolmin, 
who was chiefly solicitous about cloaks and teams, proved 
vithout effect. ; 

Alexander did not receive these ambassadors, and did not 
‘eply to their letters. 

As for justice, after the execution of the supposed incendi- 
ities, the other half of Moscow was burned ! 

As for administration, the establishment of a municipality 
lid not put an end to pillage, and was of service only to the 
ew individuals who took a part in this municipal government, 
nd, under the pretext of establishing order, plundered Mos- 
Ow, or saved their own property from pillage. 

As for religion, the thing he had found so easy to arrange 
n Egypt, by visiting a mosque, here in Moscow produced no 
esults. Two or three priests, found in Moscow, were com- 
yelled to fulfil the emperor’s wishes; but a French soldier 
truck one of them on the cheeks while conducting divine 
ervice, and of the other the French official reported as fol- 
Ws : — 

(KO 


—que son génie n’avait jamais rien imaginé de plus profond, de plus 
abile, et de plus admirable.” 


94 WAR AND PEACE. 


“The priest whom I found and commanded to begin once 
more the saying of mass, cleaned and locked the church. ‘That 
same night they went again and smashed the doors and the 
locks, tore the books in pieces, and committed other dis- 
orders.” * | 

As for the re-establishment of trade, the proclamation to 
laborious artisans and to all peasants met with no response. 
There were no laborious artisans; while the peasants seized 
the commissioners who ventured too far outside the city with 
the proclamation, and killed them. | 

As for amusing the people and the troops by theatrical 
representations, the result was a failure. The theatres that 
were established in the Kreml and‘in Posniakof’s house were 
immediately closed because the.actors and actresses were 
robbed. 

Even his charities did not bring forth the anticipated 
results. Counterfeit and genuine assignats were so abundant 
in Moscow that they were alike valueless. The French, who 
were laden with booty, would have nothing but gold. Not only 
the false assignats that Napoleon so kindly distributed among 
the unfortunates were worthless, but the discount on silver 
was greater than that on gold. 

But the most striking proof of the inefficiency of all these 
orders was Napoleon’s effort to put an end to pillage and 
restore discipline. ; 

Here ‘are some of the reports made by the commanding 
officers : — 


‘‘ Pillage continues in the city in spite of the order that it shall be 
stopped. Order is not yet re-established, and there is not a merchant 
engaged in legitimate trade. Pedlers alone venture to sell anything, ant 
what they sell are objects pillaged.”’ 

“A part of my district continues to be pillaged by soldiers of the 
Third Corps, who, not content with taking from the wretched citizens 
hiding in the cellars the little that they have, are even brutal enough to 
strike them with their swords, as I myself saw in many instances,” f | 

‘‘'There is nothing new; the soldiers still continue theft and pillage. 
(October 9.) ”’ ¢ 








* “ Te prétre que j’avais découvert et invité a recommencer a dire la messe 
a nettoyé et fermé l’église. Cette nuit on est venu de nouveau enfoncer les 
vortes, casser les cadénas, déchirer les livres et commettre d'autres désordres.” 

+ “La partie de mon arrondissement continue a étre en proie au pillage des 
soldats du 3 Corps, qui, non contents d’arracher aux malheureux réfugies 
dans des souterrains le peu qui leur reste, ont méme la ferocité de les blesser 
a coups de sabre, comme j’en ai vu plusieurs exemples.” 

t “ Rien de nouveau outre que les soldats se permettent de voler et de piller. 
(Le 9 Octobre.)” 


WAR AND PEACE. 95 


“Theft and pillage continue. There is a band of robbers in our dis- 
‘trict who ought to be put down by strong measures. (October A dss 
|“ The emperor is greatly displeased that, in spite of his strict orders to 
-restrain pillage, detachments of marauders from the guard are continually 
entering the Kreml. ... In the Old Guard disorder and pillage were 
‘renewed yesterday, last night, and to-day more vigorously if possible than 
aver. ‘The emperor sees with sorrow that his chosen soldiers, detailed to 
Jefend his own person, who ought to set an example of subordination, 
tarry disobedience so far as to despoil cellars and warehouses stocked 
‘with stores for the army. Others have fallen so low that they have 
“efused to obey the watchmen and sentinels, and have reviled and beaten 
. ‘hem.’’ 

i The grand marshal of the palace complains bitterly,’’ wrote the 2Ov- 
~mor, ** that, notwithstanding his reiterated commands, the soldiers 
tontinue to perform the offices of nature in all the courts, and even under 
‘he windows of the emperor.”’ + 


_ This army, like a herd let out in disorder, and trampling 
ander its feet the fodder that would have saved it from star- 
vation and death, was each day of its delay in Moscow nearer 
ts disorganization and its destruction. 
» But it did not stir. 
| It started in flight only when panic fear suddenly seized 
't at the capture of the provision train on the Smolensk road, 
‘md at the battle of Tarutino. 
_ This same news of the battle of Tarutino, unexpectedly re- 
eived by Napoleon during a review, inspired in him, Thiers 
ells us, the desire to punish the Russians, and he gave the 
irder to retreat, which the whole army demanded. 
On leaving Moscow, the men of this army loaded themselves 
with all the booty they could get together. 
Napoleon also had his own ¢résor to take with him. Seeing 
yhe vehicles encumbering the army, Napoleon, as Thiers says, 
ras horror-struck. But, with all his experience in war, he 
id not order the superfluous wagons to be destroyed, as he 
ad ordered in regard to his marshals’ when they were ap- 
‘Toaching Moscow. He glanced at the calashes and coaches 
1 which the soldiers were travelling, and said that it was 
ery good — that these vehicles would be useful for carrying 
rovisions, the sick, and the wounded. 
The situation of the whole army was like that of a wounded 
‘oimal feeling death to be near and not knowing what to do. 
To study the artful manceuvres and the purposes of Napo- 









~* “Te vol et le pillage continuent. Il yaune bande de voleurs dans notre 
Strict qwii faut faire arréter par de Jortes gardes. (Le 11 Octobre.)” 

“Tt “Le grand maréchal du palais se plaint vivement que malgré les défenses 
iterées les soldats continuent & Jaire leurs besoins dans toutes les cours, et 
“éme Jusque sous les Senétres de Pempereur,”’ 5 


96 WAR AND PEACE. 












leon and his army, from the time he entered Moscow to the | 
destruction of this army, is like watching the convulsions and 
the death struggles of an animal mortally wounded. Often| 
the wounded animal, hearing a noise, runs directly into the| 
hunter’s fire, turns this way and that way, and hastens its| 
own end. 

Thus acted Napoleon, under the pressure of his army. 

The noise of the battle of Tarutino alarmed the beast, anc| 
it threw itself forward directly into the fire, ran toward the 
hunter, turned back again, and, like every wild beast, sud-' 


all these movements, just as the figure-head upon the prow of) 
a ship is supposed by the savage to be the power that moves) 
the ship, — Napoleon, throughout the whole of his activity,| 
was like a child seated in a carriage clasping the straps that) 
hang on the inside, and imagining that he makes it go. 


CHAPTER XI. 


On the eighteenth of October, early in the morning, Pierré 
stepped out of the balagan, or prison-hut, and then, turning 
back, stood in the doorway, playing with the long-bodied, 
bandy-legged, little pink puppy, which was gambolling aroune: 
him. | 
This puppy had made her home in the balagan, sleeping) 
next Karatayef; but sometimes she made excursions out int¢| 
the city, from which she would always return again. She 
had evidently never belonged to any one, and now no one wit) 
her master, and she had no name. The French called her 
Azor; the wit of the company called her Femme-galka, of 
Jenny Daw; Karatayef and the others called her Serui 01 
Gray ; sometimes Vislui — the Hanger-on. | 

The fact that she belanged to no one and had no name or breeé 
and no definite color seemed in no wise to trouble the little 
pink dog. She held her furry tail like a plume, boldly ¢ 
gallantly ; the crooked bow legs served her so well that often 
as though disdaining to use all four of them, she would hf 
gracefully one of the hind-legs, and run with great agility anc 
adroitness on three. Everything that came along was for he 
an object of satisfaction, Now grunting with delight sh 


WAR AND PEACE. | 97 


vould roll on her back, now she would warm herself in the 
un with a thoughtful and significant expression, now she 
yould gambol and play with a chip or a straw. 

_ Pierre’s costume now consisted of a torn and dirty shirt, — 
he only remains of his former dress, — soldiers’ trousers, for 
he sake of greater warmth tied with string around the ankles 
'y Karatayef’s advice, a kaftan, and his peasant’s cap. 
_Physically, during this time Pierre had greatly’ changed. 
Le no longer seemed portly, although he still retained that 
ppearance of rotundity and strength which in their nature 
ve hereditary. His beard and niustache had grown, and coy- 
ved the lower part of his face. His long hair, all in a tangle 
jn his head and full of lice, fell in tangled locks from under 
lis cap. The expression of his eyes was firm, steadfast, calm, 
ad full of an alertness which had never before been charac- 
ristic of him. His old-time indolence, manifested even in 
is eyes, had now given place to an energetic spirit that was 
tady for activity and resistance. 

‘His feet were bare. 

| Pierre looked now at the field along which, that morning, 
‘ams and mounted men were moving, now far off across the 
ver, now at the puppy which was pretending that she was 
ying to bite him in real earnest, and now at his bare feet, 
hich, for the sport of the thing, he was placing in various 
fatudes, wagging his dirty, thick toes. And every time that 
+ looked at his bare feet, a smile of lively satisfaction illu- 
‘ined his face. The sight of those bare feet reminded him of 
{that he had been through and had learned to understand in 
at time, and this recollection was agreeable to him. 
‘The weather for several days had become mild and bright, 
th light frosts in the morning — the so-called Babye liéto — 
dian summer. 

In the sun, the air felt warm; and this warmth, together 
th the invigorating freshness of the morning frosts, which 
t its influence in the air, was very pleasant. Over every- 
“ng, objects remote and objects near at hand, lay that magi- 
crystalline gleam which is seen only at this time of the 
umn. In the distance could be seen the Vorobyevui 
Tui—the Sparrow Hills —with a village, a church, and a 
vat white house. And the leafless trees and the sand and 
+ rocks and the roofs of the houses, the green belfry of the 
rch, and the angles of the distant white house, — every- 
ng stood out with unnatural distinctness, with all its deli- 
y of outline, in the transparent atmosphere. 

“VoL.4.—7 










- 


98 WAR AND PEACE. 

Near at hand were the well-known ruins of a noble mansion 
half burned, oceupied by the French, with its lilac bushes. 
still dark green, which had once adorned the park along by 
the fence. And even this house, ruined and befouled, which 
in gloomy weather would have been repulsive from its dis- 
order, now, in'the bright, immovable light, seemed lke some- 
thing tranquilly beautiful. 

A French corporal, in undress uniform, in his night-cap, with 
a short pipe between his teeth, came from behind the corner 
of the balagdn, and, tipping Pierre a friendly wink, joined 
hin. 

“Quel soleil, hein! Monsieur Kirill,” — for that was what all 
the French called Pierre, — “on dirait le printemps —yowd 
think it was springtime.” 

And the corporal leaned up against the door-post and offered 
Pierre his pipe, although Pierre always declined it just as 
surely as he was always sure to offer it. 

“ Si Lon marchait par un temps comme celui-la — If we 
should start in such weather as this ” — he began. 

Pierre asked what the news was in regard to a retreat, and 
the corporal told him that almost all the troops were begin- 
ning to move, and that the order in regard to the prisoners 
was to be issued that day. 

In the balagdn in which Pierre was confined, a soldier named 
Sokélof was sick unto death, and Pierre told the corporal that 
something ought to be done about this soldier. 

The corporal replied that Pierre might be easy on that 
score, that there were permanent and movable hospitals, and 
that the sick would be cared for, and that the authorities had 

rovided for all emergencies. 

« And besides, Monsieur Kirill, you have only to say a single 
word to the captain, you know. Oh, he is a —he never for- 
gets anything! Tell the captain when he makes his tour of 
inspection, and he will do anything for you.” — 

The captain of whom the corporal was speaking had often 
talked with Pierre and showed him all manner of conde- 
scension. — : 

“Do you see, St. Thomas,’ says he to me the other day, 
‘Kirill is a man of education who speaks French; he is a 
Russian seigneur who has been unfortunate, but he’s a man! 
‘And he knows what —If he asks for anything,’ says he, * let 
him tell me; I couldn’t refuse him. When one has been 
studying, you see, you like education and the right kind oi 
people.’ It’s for your sake I tell you this, Monsieur Kirill. 








off 





WAR AND PEACE. 99 


In that affair the other day, if it hadn’t been for you, it might. 
have come out pretty bad!” * 
And after chatting a little while longer the corporal went 


The “affair” which the corporal mentioned as having taken’ 
place a few days before was a squabble between the prisoners 


_and the French in which Pierre had taken it upon him to act 
as peacemaker. | 


Several of the prisoners had been listening to the conversa- 


tion between Pierre and the corporal, and they immediately 
_ began to ask what had been said. While Pierre was telling 


his comrades what the corporal had said about the retreat of 
the French, a lean, sallow, and ragged French soldier made 


fils appearance in the door of the balagén. With a quick, 
_ timid gesture he addressed himself to Pierre, raising his fingers 


to his forehead as a salute, and asked him if there were a 


_ soldier in that balagan named Platoche, who had been given a 
_ shirt to make. 


The week before the French had received leather and linen, 


and had distributed them among the Russian prisoners to 


make boots and shirts. 

“All ready, all ready, my dear,” said Platon Karatayef, 
coming forth with a carefully folded shirt. 

Karatayef, owing to the warmth of the weather, and for 
convenience of working, wore only his trousers and a torn 
shirt as black as earth. His hair, after the fashion of master 


workmen, was tied up with a bast string, and his round face 


seemed rounder and more good-natured than ever. 
“<«Agreement’s own brother to business.’ I promised it 
for Friday, and here it is!” said Platon, smiling, and unfold- 


ing the shirt which he had made. 


The Frenchman glanced round uneasily, and, as though con- 
quering a doubt, he quickly stripped off his uniform, and put 
on the shirt. The Frenchman had no shirt on under his 


, uniform, but his bare, yellow, lean body was clad in nothing 


but a long, greasy, silk brocade waistcoat. 


* “Ht puis, M. Kirill, vous n’avez qu’a dire un mot au canitarne, vous 
, ’ ? 


, savez. Oh! c'est un—qui n’oublie jamais rien. Dites au capitaine quand 


u fera sa tournée, il fera tout pour vous.—‘Vois-tu, St. Thomas,’ qu’il me 
disait l'autre jour, ‘Kiril c’est un homme qui a de Vinstruction, qui parle 


\ francais; c’est un seigneur russe, quia eu des malheurs, mais c’est un homme. 
, Ht il s’y entend le —s’il demande quelque chose, qwil me dise, il n’y a pas 
' de refus. Quand ona fait ses études, voyez-vous, on aime Vinstruction et les 
gens comme il faut.’ C’est pour vous que je dis cela, M. Kirill! Dans Vaffaire 
de lautre jour si ce n’était grace a vous, ¢a aurait fini mal.” 


100 WAR AND PEACE. 


The Frenchman was evidently afraid that the prisoners who 
were staring at him would make sport of him, and he hastily 
thrust his head into the shirt. Not one of the prisoners said 
a word. 

» «There, it was time,” exclaimed ,.Platon, pulling down the 
shirt. The Frenchman, getting his head and arms through, 
without lifting his eyes, inspected the fit of the shirt and 
scrutinized the sewing. ; 

“You see, my dear, this is not a tailor’s shop, and I hadn’t 
suitable tools; and the saying is, ‘ You can’t kill even a louse 
without a tool,’” said Platon, with a round smile, and taking 
evident delight in his handiwork. ‘ 

“ (est bien, cest bien, merci! “But you ought to have some 
of the cloth left over,” said the Frenchman. 

“Tt will set on you better when you get it fitted to your 
body,” said Karatayef, continuing to delight in his production. 
“It will suit you nicely and be very comfortable.” 

“ Merci, merci, mon vieux, — le reste,” insisted the Frenchman, 
smiling; and, getting out an assignat, he gave it to Karatayet, 
“mais le reste.” 

Pierre saw that Platon had no wish to understand what the 
Frenchman said, and, without interfering, he looked at them. 
Karatayef thanked him for the money, and continued to 
admire his work. The Frenchman was bound to have the 
pieces that were left over, and begged Pierre to translate what 
he said. 

“What does he want of the pieces?” asked Karatayef. 
“They would come in handy as leg-wrappers. Well, then, God 
go with him — Bog s nim!” and Karatayef, his face suddenly 
changing to an expression of deep depression, took out from 
his breast a bundle of rags, and handed them to the French-_ 
man without looking at him. “Ekh-ma!” exclaimed Karata- 
yef, and he started back into the hut. | 

The Frenchman looked at the cloth, deliberated a moment, 
gave Pierre a questioning look, and, as though Pierre’s look 
said something to him, — 

“ Platoche, dites donc! Platoche, Platoche!” cried the 
Frenchman, suddenly flushing, and speaking in a piping voice! 
“ Gardez pour vous — keep it!” said he, giving him the rags, 
and, turning on his heel, went off. 

“Good-by,” said Karatayef, nodding his head. “They say 
they’re heathens, but that one has a soul. It used to be a say- 
ing in old times, ‘Sweaty hand’s lavish, dry hand close.’ That 
man was naked, but he gave all the same.” Karatayef, thought 


WAR AND PEACE. 101 


fully smiling and looking at the rags, remained silent for 
some time. 
“But they'll come handy as leg-wrappers, my friend,” said 
he, and returned to the balagén. 


CHAPTER XII. 


Four weeks had passed since Pierre was made prisoner. 
Although the French had proposed to transfer him from the 
privates’ balagan to the officers’, he preferred to remain in the 
_ one where he had been placed on the first day. 

__ In Moscow plundered and burned, Pierre experienced almost 
the utmost privations which it is in the power of man to 
endure ; but owing to his vigorous constitution and health, — 

a blessing which he had never realized till then, —and espe- 
cially owing to the fact that these privations had come or him 
so imperceptibly that it was impossible to say when they 
_ began, he not only bore them easily but even cheerfully. 

And it was at this very time that he began to feel that 
calmness and self-satisfaction which he had before vainly 
striven to attain. He had been long seeking in various direc- 
tions for this composure and self-agreement, that quality 
which had amazed him so in the soldiers at the battle of 
Borodino: he had sought it in philanthropy, in Free-Masonry, 
in the diversions of fashionable life, in wine, in the heroic 
effort of self-sacrifice, in his romantic love for Natasha. He 
had sought it in the path of thought, and all these efforts and 
experiments had disappointed him. 

, And now without any effort or thought he had discovered 
‘this calmness and self-contentment only by the horror of 
death, by privations, and by what he had found in Kavratayef. 
Those terrible moments which he had passed through at the 
time of the executions had, as it were, cleared forever from 
“his imagination and his recollection those anxious thoughts 

and feelings which had formerly seemed to him of consequence. 
He no longer thought about Russia, or the war, or politics, or 
‘Napoleon. It was evident to him that all this concerned him 
‘not, that he was not called upon, and therefore could not judge 
about all this. 

**No love is lost 
’Twixt Russia and frost,’’ * 

* Rossii da liétu ~ 
i Soyuzu niétu. 

A variant of the popular saw, Fusi i li¢tu —Soyvzu niétu,— * Winter and 
Summer have no alliance,” 





102 WAR AND PEACE. 


\ 


he would say, quoting one of Karatayef’s proverbs, and these 
words strangely calmed him. 

His scheme of killing Napoleon seemed to him now incom- 
prehensible and even absurd, and so also his calculations con- 
cerning the cabalistic number and the Beast of the Apocalypse. 
His indignation against his wife, and his anxiety that his 
name should not be disgraced, seemed to him now not only 
insignificant, but even ludicrous. What difference did it make 
to him whether or not this woman led the life that best 
pleased her, or where? Whose business was it and what 
difference did it make to him whether it were known or 
not known to the French that their prisoner was Count 
Bezukhoi. 

He now frequently recalled his conversation with Prince 
Andrei and fully agreed with him, except that he understood 
Prince Andrei’s words in a slightly different way. 

Prince Andrei thought and declared that happiness is 
merely negative, but he said this with a shade of bitterness 
and irony. It seemed as if in saying this he had expressed 
the corresponding thought, — that all our aspirations for real, 
positive happiness are given to us merely to torment us, with- 
out ever being satisfied. 

But Pierre, without any mental reservation, acknowledged 
the correctness of this. The absence of pain, the gratifica- 
tion of desires, and consequently the free choice of oceupar | 
tions, in other words, the manner of life, seemed now to | 
Pierre man’s indubitable and highest happiness. | 

Here and now, for the first time, Pierre appreciated the | 
pleasure of eating when he was hungry, of drinking when he | 
was thirsty, of sleeping when he was sleepy, of warmth e | 
he was cold, of converse with his fellow-men when he felt | 
like talking and hearing a human voice. The gratification of | 
desires, — good food, cleanliness, independence, — now that he | 
was deprived of them all, seemed to Pierre perfect happiness; | 
and the choice of occupation, — that is life, — now when this | 
choice was so limited, seemed to him such an easy matter | 
that he forgot that the superfluity of the comforts of life 
destroyed all the happiness of gratifying the desires, while | 
ereat freedom in choice of occupations, that freedom which in | 
his case was given him by his culture, his wealth, his position | 
in society, that such freedom is exactly what makes a choice | 
of occupations hopelessly difficult, and destroys the very | 
desire and possibility of occupation. | 

All Pierre’s thoughts of the future were directed toward | 





WAR AND PEACE. 103 


the time when he should be free. But nevertheless, after- 

wards, and all his life long, Pierre thought and spoke with 
enthusiasm of that month of imprisonment, of those strong 
_and pleasurable sensations which would never return again, 

and above all of that utter spiritual peace, of that perfect 
| inward freedom, which he had experienced only at that time. 
_- When on the first day of his imprisonment he arose early 
| in the morning and went out at daybreak from the balagan 
and saw the cupolas, dim and dark at first, the crosses on the 
_Novo-Dievitchy monastery, saw-the frosty dew on the dusty 
grass, saw the tops of the Sparrow Hills, and the winding 
| woody banks of the river vanishing in the purple distance, 
‘when he felt the contact of the fresh, cool air, and heard the 
'eawing of the daws flying from Moscow across the field, and 
when afterwards suddenly flashed forth the light from the 
east, and the disk of the sun arose solemnly above the cloud 
‘and the cupolas and the crosses, and the dew and the dis- 
‘tance and the river all were bathed in gladsome light, then 
| Pierre felt a new sense of joy and vital vigor such as he had 
never before experienced. 
And this feeling not only did not once leave him during all 

the time of his imprisonment, but, on the contrary, it grew 
‘more and more, according as the difficulties of his position 
“Increased. 

This feeling of readiness for anything, of moral elevation, 
was still more enhanced in Pierre by that lofty recognition 
which immediately on his incarceration in the balagdn he 

began to enjoy among his companions. 

» Pierre, by his knowledge of languages, by that respect 
‘which was shown him by the French, by the simplicity with 
which he gave anything that was asked of him, — he received 
three rubles a week, the same as the officers, — by the strength 
‘which he manifested before the soldiers by driving in the 
pegs in the wall of the balagan, by the sweetness of disposi- 
‘tion which he showed in his treatment of his companions, by 
‘his power, which they could not understand, of sitting motion- 
less, thinking, seemed to the soldiers a somewhat mysterious 
and superior being. 

' Those very characteristics of his which had been, if not 
‘Injurious, at least a hinderance, in that society where he had 
‘moved before, — his strength, his scorn for the amenities of 
life, his fits of abstraction, his simplicity, — here, among these 
people, gave him almost the position of a hero. And Pierre 
‘felt that this view imposed responsibilities upon him. 








104 WAR AND PEACE. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Tur French armies started to retreat on the night of the 
eighteenth of October.. Kitchens and balagans were dis- 
mantled ; wagons were loaded, and the troops and trains set 
forth. 

At seven o’clock in the morning, in marching trim, in 
shakos, with muskets, knapsacks, and huge bundles, they 
stood in front of the balagans, and a lively interchange of 
French talk, interspersed with oaths, rolled along the whole 
line. 

In the balagén all were ready, clothed, belted, shed, and 
only awaiting the word of command to start. 

The sick soldier Sokdlof, pale and thin, with livid circles 
under his eyes, was the only one unshod and unelad; and he 
lay in his place, and his eyes, bulging from his very leanness, 
looked questioningly at his comrades, who paid no heed to 
him or his low and regular groans. Evidently it was not so 
much his sufferings — he was ill with dysentery —as it was | 
the fear and grief at being left alone that caused him to 
groan. 

Pierre, with his feet shod in slippers fabricated for him by 
Karatayef out of remnants of goat-skin which a Frenchman 
had brought him to make into inner soles for his boots, and | 
belted with a rope, came to the sick man and squatted down 
beside him on his heels. | 

“ Now, see here, Sokélof, they’re not absolutely all going 
away. They’re going to have a hospital here. Maybe yowll 
be better off than the rest of us,” said Pierre. 

“Oh, Lord, oh! The death of me! Oh, Lord!” groaned 
the soldier, louder than ever. 

“There, ’ll go directly and ask them,” said Pierre, and, 
getting up, he went to the door of the balagan. 

Just as Pierre reached the door, the very corporal who, the 
day before, had offered Pierre his pipe, appeared at the out- 
side with two soldiers. The corporal and the soldiers also 
were in marching trim, with knapsacks, and wearing shakos 
with chin-straps on, which gave a new appearance to them 
well-known faces. The corporal approached the door for the 
purpose of locking it, according to the order of the authorities. 
Before letting out the prisoners they had to call the roll. + 

“Corporal, what is to be done with the sick man?” — 


WAR AND PEACE. 105 


Pierre began to say; but at the instant that he said this, the 
doubt arose in his mind whether this was the corporal whom 
he had known, or an entirely different man: the corporal was 
so unlike himself at that instant. Moreover, at the instant 
that Pierre spoke, on two sides the rolling of drums was 
suddenly heard. 

The corporal scowled at Pierre’s words, and, uttering a 


-MIneaningless oath, he clapped the door to. 


In the balagan there was semi-darkness; on two sides the 
sharp rattle of the drums drowned the sick man’s groans. 
“Here it is!—here it is again!” said Pierre to himself, 


and an involuntary chill ran down his back. 


In the changed face of the corporal, in the sounds of his 


voice, in the exciting and deafening rattle of the drums, 


Pierre recognized that mysterious, unsympathetic power 


which compels men against their wills to murder their kind, 


‘that power the working of which he had seen during the 


-executions. 
To fear this power, to try to escape it, to address.with 


| petitions or with reproaches the men who served as its instru- 
-Inents, was idle. 


Pier®e now realized this. It was necessary to wait and 
have patience. . 

Pierre did not go back to the sick man, or even look in his 
direction. Silent, scowling, he stood at the door of the 


balagan. 


When the doors of the balagan were thrown open, and the 
prisoners, crowding against each other, came flocking out, 


Pierre threw himself in front of them and went to the very 
eaptain who, according to the corporal’s account, was ready to 


do anything for him. 

This captain was in marching trim, and from his cold face 
looked forth that same “it” which Pierre had recognized in 
‘the corporal’s words and in the rattle of the drums. 
 & Pilez, filex— On with you!” commanded the captain, 
‘frowning sternly, as he looked at the prisoners crowding past 
‘him. Pierre knew beforehand that his effort would be 
‘wasted, but still he went up to him. 
| “Eh bien, qu est-ce-qwil y a ? — What do you want ? ” asked 
the officer coldly, scanning Pierre as though he did not recog: 
‘nize him. 

' Pierre told him about the wounded. 
“He can walk, the devil take. him!” replied the captain. 
“Filez, filez/” he went on saying, not looking at Pierre. 


: 





106 WAR AND PEACE. 


“No, but he is dying,’”’ began Pierre. 
“ Go to the !” cried the captain, scowling wrathfully. 
Dram-da-da-dam-dam-dam went the rattle of the drums. 
And Pierre realized that this mysterious force was already in 
full possession of these men, and that to say anything now 
was useless. | 
The officers among the prisoners were separated from the 
privates and ordered to go forward. The officers, including 
Pierre, numbered thirty, the privates three hundred. | 
The officers who were taken out of the other prison-bala- 
gAns were otherwise and far better dressed than Pierre, and | 
they looked at him and his foot-gear with distrust and even | 
repulsion. | 
Not far from Pierre marched a stout major in a fine Kazan | 
khalat, belted with a towel, with a puffy, sallow, cross face, | 
who evidently enjoyed general distinction among his fellow- | 
prisoners. He kept one hand holding his tobacco-pouch in : 
his bosom; in the other he clutched his pipe. This major, 
puffing and breathing hard, growled and scolded at every- | 
body because it seemed to him they were pushing him, and | 
were in a hurry, when there was no sense in being in a hurry, | 
and were wondering at everything when there was nothing to 
wonder at. | 
Another officer, a little lean man, was chattering with | 
every one, expressing his suppositions as to where they were | 
to be taken now, and how far they would succeed in moving | 
that day. 
A chinovnik, in felt boots and wearing the uniform of the | 
commissariat department, ran from one side to another and | 
gazed at the burned city, loudly communicating his specula- 
tions in regard to the buildings burned, or whether it was | 
this or that part of Moscow where they were. | | 
A third officer, of Polish origin, judging by his accent, | 
disputed with the commissariat chinovnik, arguing that he | 
was mistaken in his identification of the different parts of | 
Moscow. | | 
“What are you disputing about?” angrily asked the 
major. “Whether Nikola or Vlas, ’tis all one; can’t you see 
tis all burnt, and that’s the end of it? ... What are you 
pushing so for? isn’t there room enough ?-” he exclaimed, | 
turning wrathfully on the one next to him, who did not even } 
touch him. | 
“Ai! ai! ai! what have they done!” was heard on all | 
sides as the prisoners gazed at the ruins wrought by the 
conflagration. | 








WAR AND PEACE. 107 


“The ward across the river* and Zubovo and even in the 
reml!” 
“Look! half of the city’s gone!” 
“Yes, and I told you that the ward across the river was 
urnt, and there! you see, it is so!” . 
_ “Well, now you know it’s burnt, and what’s the use of 
ilking about it ?” grumbled the major. 
As they passed through Khamévniki,t one of the few 
‘ascathed quarters of Moscow, and went by a church, the 
‘hole throng of prisoners suddenly swerved to one side, and 
‘<elamations of horror and disgust were heard : — 
Oh, the scoundrels !” 
| Aren’t they heathens ? ” 
_ “Oh, it’s a corpse, it’s a corpse!” 
“ They’ve smeared his face with something.” 
Pierre also moved toward the church, where the object 
tat had called forth the exclamations was, and he vaguely 
scerned something leaning up against the walls of the 
varch. 
“From the words of his comrades who had better eyesight 
ian he, he made out that this object was a man’s dead body, 
aced in a standing posture by the fence, and with its face 
neared with lamp-black. 
' Marchez! Sacrénom! Filez! ... trente mille diables/” 
iouted the soldiers of the guard; and the French soldiers, 
ith fierce objurgations and abuse, applied their sabres to. 
‘ive on the throng of the prisoners, who had stopped to gaze 
the dead. 










A CHAPTER XIV. 


‘On the streets that crossed Khamovniki, the prisoners 
‘arched along with their convoy and the wagons and teams 
‘at belonged to the soldiers composing it and followed 
‘hind them; but when they reached a storehouse of provis- 
ns, they found themselves in the midst of a tremendous 
tachment of artillery, moving in close order, which had got 
ixed up with a number of private conveyances. 

On the “bridge itself a halt was called, and they all waited 
‘r those in the van to move on. From the bridge the prison- 


-* The Zamoskvorietchye. 
_ J] The Weavers’, Count Tolstoi’s present Moscow residence is in Kha 
vniki. 


108 WAR AND PEACE. 






ers could see before them and behind them endless lines of 
moving vehicles. | 
At the right, where the Kaluga road bends away past 
Neskutchnui, stretched endless files of troops and trains, dis-| 
appearing in the.distance. These were the troops belonging! 
to Beauharnais’s corps, which had left the city before the others.) 
Behind, along the Naberezhnaya quai and across the Kémen-| 
nui Most or Stone Bridge, stretched the troops and trains of| 
Ney. | 
Davoust’s troops, in whose charge the prisoners were, had’ 
crossed the Kruimsky Brod, or Crimean Ford Bridge, and) 
already some of the divisions were debouching into Kaluga) 
Street. But the teams stretched out so endlessly that the| 
last ones belonging to Beauharnais’s division had not yet left 
Moscow to enter Kaluga Street, while the head of Ney’s| 
troops had already left Bélshaya Orduinka. 4 
After the prisoners had crossed the Crimean Ford Bridge,| 
they moved on some little distance, and were halted, and then| 
moved on again, while from all sides equipages and men were| 
blocked together more and more. After marching more than} 
an hour, accomplishing those few hundred steps which separ 
rated the bridge from Kaluga Street, and reaching the square] 
where Kaluga Street and the Frans-Moskva Streets meet, the} 
prisoners, closely squeezed into one group, were halted agaiu| 
and kept standing for some hours at the crossway. | 
In every direction was heard the incessant roar of carriages! 
like the tumult of the sea, and trampling of feet and incessant} 
shouts and curses. Pierre stood crushed up against the wall) 
of a house that had been exposed to the flames, and listened! 
to this uproar, which blended in his imagination with the} 
rattle of the drum. ] 
Several of the officers in the group of prisoners, in order to} 
get a better view, climbed up on the wall of the house next 
which Pierre was standing. | 
“What crowds of people! oh, what crowds!” — “ They're} 
even riding on the guns! See the furs!” they exclaimed} 
“Oh! the carrion-eaters! what thieves !”” — “ Look yonder, on 
that telyega!’7— “Do you see that, they’ve got an ikon, b} 
God !”” — i 
“Those must be Germans.” —“And our muzhiks, by} 
God!” — | 
“ Akh! the scoundrels ! ” — “See how they’re loaded down 
much as they can do to get along! And there’s one got aj 
drozhsky —they stole even that!” — | 


= 


WAR AND PEACE. 109 


| “See! he’s sitting on the trunks! Ye saints!” — “There 

they’re having a fight.”” — 

_ “See! he hit him in the snout, right in the snout!” 

i “ At this rate they won’t get through till night !’””? — 
“Took! Just look! Those must be Napoleon’s! See 

what fine horses! With monogram and crown!” — 

‘ “That was a fine house!” — “See, he’s dropped a bag and 

idn’t notice it!” — 

“There! they’re fighting again !”” — 

_“There’s a woman with a baby! Not so_bad-looking 

‘ther !”? — | 

' “See! There’s no end to it. Russian wenches! there’s the 

wwenches for you, by God ! ”— 

_ “'They’re having an easy time in that carriage there, hey !” 

_ Again the wave of general curiosity, just as had been the 

ase at the church at Khamovniki, drove all the prisoners into 

he street; and Pierre, thanks to his stature, could, over the 

eads of the others, see what had so awakened the curiosity of 

he prisoners: in three calashes, jammed in among some artil- 

ery caissons, rode several women, sitting close together, 

dorned with bright colors, painted, and shouting at the top of 

heir sharp voices. 

From the moment that Pierre recognized the re-appearance 
£ that mysterious power, nothing seemed to him strange or 
errible; neither the corpse smeared with lamp-black for a 
oke, nor these women hastening no one knew where, nor the 
‘onflagration that had destroyed Moscow. All that he now 
aw produced scarcely any impression upon him —as though 
‘Is soul, preparing fora hard struggle, refused to submit to 
ny impressions that might render it weaker. 

The teams with the women drove past. Again behind them 
tretched on telyegas, soldiers, baggage wagons, soldiers, 
owder-trains, carriages, soldiers, caissons, soldiers, and here 
nd there women. 

Pierre could not distinguish faces, but he could make out 
ae general movement of the masses. 

All these people and these horses seemed to be driven forth 
y some invisible force. All of them, during the course of the 
our that Pierre spent in watching them, came pouring forth 
tom different streets with one and the same wish, to get along 
|3 rapidly as possible; all of them were alike apt to interfere 
pith each other, to quarrel, even to come to blows. White 
»eth were displayed, brows scowled, oaths and curses inter: 
jungled, and all faces bore one and that same youthfully 















110 WAR AND PEACE. 


resolute and cruelly cold expression which, that morning, had| 
struck Pierre in the corporal’s face at the sound of the) 
drum.” | 

Some time before nightfall the chef of the convoy mustered} 
his command, and with shouts and disputes marched them in| 
amongst the teams, and the prisoners, guarded on every side, 
debouched into the Kaluga road. } | 

They proceeded very rapidly, without stopping to rest, and| 
only halted at sunset. The teams ran into each other, and the 
men prepared for their night encampment. All seemed angry] 
and dissatisfied. It was long before the ‘curses and shouts} 
and blows ceased on all sides. A private carriage, that had) 
been following the prisoners’ guard, came up against one of the; 
wagons belonging to the same, and the pole ran into it. 
Several soldiers ran up from various sides; some struck the 
heads of the horses that drew the private carriage, and tried) 
to turn them aside; others squabbled among themselves, and) 
Pierre saw a German severely wounded in the head with aj 
short sabre. | 

It seemed as if all these people, now that they found them- 
selves in the open country in the chill twilight of an autumn) 
evening, experienced one and the same feeling of disagreeable! 
re-action which had come on after the haste and excitement 
that had occupied them all during the march. They halted) 
all as though they realized that it was inevitable that they) 
should still move forward somewhere, and that in this march 
there would be much that was stern and hard. | 
- During this halt, the soldiers in charge of the prisoners 
treated them far worse than they had during the march. A. 
this halt horse-flesh was for the first time served out to the 
prisoners. 

From officers down to humblest soldiers, all seemed alike te 
feel, as it were, a personal sense of anger against each one of) 
the prisoners, all the more noticeable from the unexpected 
change from their former friendliness. 

This ill will grew more and more pronounced, when, at call 
ing the roll of the prisoners, it transpired that during the 
bustle attendant upon leaving Moscow a Russian soldier 
feigning to be ill with colic, had escaped. 

Pierre saw a Frenchman strike a Russian soldier for having 
strayed away from the road too far; and he heard the captain 
his friend, reprimand a non-commissioned officer for tli 
escape*of the Russian soldier, and threaten him with court 
martial. 





WAR AND PEACE. iii 


_ At the corporal’s excuse that the soldier was ill, and,could 
ot march, the officer replied that it was commanded to shoot 
those who had to be left. 

_ Pierre felt that that fateful power which had taken posses- 
sion of him during the executions, and which had been in 
‘beyance during the time of his imprisonment, now once 
nore ruled his existence. 

- It was terrible to him; but he felt that in proportion to the 
‘fforts made by this fateful force to crush him, in his: own 
soul waxed and strengthened the force of life that was inde- 
yendent of it. 

| Pierre made his supper of rye-meal porridge and horse-flesh, 
ind chatted with his comrades, 

| Neither Pierre nor any of his companions said a word of what 
hey had seen in Moscow, or about the cruelty of the French, 
wr about the order to have stragglers shot, which had been 
Xplained to them: all of them were especially cheerful and 
ively, as though to counteract the wretchedness of their posi- 
lon. ‘They called up their personal recollections, and the 
‘omical incidents which they had seen during the march, and 
voided all mention of their actual position. 

The sun had long ago set; the bright stars were every- 
vhere glittering in the sky; along the horizon spread the 
uddy glow of the rising full moon like the glare of a conflag- 
ation, and soon the huge red globe hung swaying wonder- 
‘ully in the grayish mists. It grew light. The evening was 
ver, but the night had not fairly begun. 

Pierre left his new comrades, and, stepping among.the watch- 
ires, started to cross to the other side of the road, where he 
ad been told the privates of the prisoner party were en- 
amped. He wanted to have a talk with them. But a sen- 
inel halted him on the road and ordered him back. 

Pierre returned, but not to the watch-fire, to his companions, 
ut to an unharnessed wagon where there was no one. Doub- 
ng up his legs and dropping his head, he sat down on the cold 
round by the wagon-wheel, and remained there long motion- 
ss, thinking. 

_ More than an hour passed in that way. No one disturbed 
im, 3 

_ Suddenly he burst out into a loud and burly peal of jovial 
iughter, so loud that men gathered round from various direc- 
‘ons in amazement, to see what caused this strange and soli- 
ary fit of laughter. 

-*Ha! ha! ha!” roared Pierre, and he went on talking 




























112 WAR AND PEACE. 
/ 


aloud to himself. “The soldier would not let me pass. J 
was caught, I was shut up. They still keep me as their pris- 
oner. Who am 1? 1? 1?—wmy immortal soul! Ha! hal 
ha!” and he laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks. 

Some one got up and came over to see what this strange, big 
man found to laugh at all alone by himself. Pierre ceased ty 
laugh, got up, went off to some distance from the inquisitive 
man, and glanced around him. f 

The huge, endless bivouac, which shortly before had been 
noisy with the crackling of camp-fires and the voices of men, 
was now silent: the ruddy fires were dying down and paling: 
High in the bright sky stood the full moon. Forest and field, 
before invisible beyond the confines of the bivouac, could now 
be seen stretching far away. And still farther beyond these 
forests and fields the eye followed the bright, quivering, allm- 
ing, infinite distance. 

Pierre gazed up into the sky, into the depths of the march- 
ing host of twinkling stars. - 

“And all that is mine, and all that is in me, and all that is 
me,” thought Pierre. “And they took all that and shut it in 
a hut made of boards!” 

He smiled, and went back to his comrades, and lay down to 
sleep. ; 


CHAPTER XV. . 


Towarp the middle of October, a messenger came t¢ 
Kutuzof with still another letter from Napoleon, and a pro 
posal for peace. It was deceitfully dated from Moscow, since 
at that time Napoleon was not far in advance of Kutuzof or 
the old Kaluga highway. 

Kutuzof replied to this letter exactly as he had replied t¢ 
the first one with which Lauriston had been sent: he declaree 
that there could be no question of peace. 

Shortly after this, word was received from Dorokhof, whic 
was in command of a band of “partisans” operating at the 
left of Tarutino, that the enemy had appeared in Fominskoye 
that these troops consisted of Broussier’s division, and tha 
this division, being separated from the rest of the army, migh’ 
be easily destroyed. | 

Soldiers and officers again demanded offensive operation 
The staff generals, animated by their remembrance of the easy 
victory at Tarutino, brought all their influence to bear 9 
Kutuzof te grant Dorokhof’s proposal, ' 


WAR AND PEACE. 118 


Kutuzof considered it unnecessary to make any attack. A 
uddle course was adopted: a small detachment was sent to 
‘ominskoye, charged to attack Broussier. 

By an odd coincidence, this operation — most difficult and 
4ost important, as it turned out, in its consequences — was 
atrusted to Dokhturof —that same modest little Dokhturof 
‘hom no one ever thought of describing for us as concocting 
lans for engagements, flying at the head of regiments, scat- 
‘ring crosses on the batteries, and so on; who was considered 
ad counted irresolute and lacking in penetration, but never- 
ieless that same Dokhturof whom, during all the wars be- 
Ween the Russians and the French, from Austerlitz until 
313, we find always in command where there was anything 
ficult to do. 

At Austerlitz, he stays until the last on the dike of Augest, 
‘forming the regiments, saving what he can, when all are 
»eing and perishing, and not one general is left in the rear. 
‘Though ill with fever, he goes to Smolensk with twenty 
jousand men to defend the city against the whole army of 
apoleon. At Smolensk, he had just caught a wink of sleep 
the Malakhof gates, during a paroxysm of his fever, when 
‘4s awakened by the cannonade of the city, and Smolensk 
ds out the whole day. 

In the battle of Borodino, when Bagration is struck down, 

d nine men in every ten from among the troops of our left 
‘nk are killed, and all the force of the French artillery fire 

concentrated in, that direction, no one else but Dokhturof, 
‘esolute and lacking in penetration, is sent there, and Kutu- 
£ makes haste to retrieve the blunder which he had made in 
ding some one else there. And the little, mild Dokhturof 
@s there, and Borodino becomes the brightest glory of the 
issian arms. And many heroes have been celebrated by us 
‘Verse and prose, but of Dokhturof scarcely a word! 

Again, Dokhturof is sent to Fominskoye and from there to 
ui Yaroslavetz, to the place where the last battle with the 
ench took place, and where evidently the destruction of the 
nch began ; and again many heroes and geniuses have been 
ebrated by us at that period in the campaign, but of Dokh- 
of never a word, or almost nothing, or half-heartedly. This 
mee concerning Dokhturof more palpably than aught else 
‘ves his merit. 

Naturally, for a man who understands not the working of a 
chine, it seems, on first seeing it in motion, that the most 
ortant part of it is the shaving which accidentally got int¢ 

VOL. 4, —8, 










114 WAR AND PEACE. 


it, and, while interfering with its movement, makes a buzzin: 
noise. The man, not knowing the virtues of the machine, cai 
not comprehend that not this shaving vitiating and derangin: 
the works, but that little distributing cog-wheel which turn 
noiselessly, is the most essential part of the machine. 

On the twenty-second of October, the same day on whic. 
Dokhturof traversed the half of the road toward Fominskoy\ 
and had halted in the village of Aristovo, preparing himse] 
accurately to carry out the orders that had been given hin 
the whole French army, in its spasmodic motion moving dow 
as far as Murat’s position, as though for the purpose of givin 
battle, suddenly, without any reason, swerved to the left t 
the new Kaluga highway, and moved toward Fominskoy’ 
where shortly before only Broussier had been. 

Dokhturof, at this time, had under his’ command, with tl 
exception of Dorokhof’s men, only the two small divisions ¢ 
Figner and Seslavin. 

On the afternoon of October twenty-third, Seslavin came | 
the commander at Aristovo with a French guardsman, wh 
had been taken prisoner. The prisoner said that the trooy 
which had that day occupied Fominskoye consisted of tk 
vanguard of the main army, that Napoleon was there, thé 
the whole army had left Moscow on the seventeenth. 

That same evening a domestic serf, who had come fro: 
Borovsko, declared that he had seen a tremendous host ente 
ing the town. 

The Cossacks of Dorokhof’s division brought word that the 
had seen the French guard marching along the road * 
Borovsko. 

From all these rumors it was evident that at that pli 
where they expected to find a single division was now tl 
whole army of the French, which had marched out of Mose 
in an unexpected route — along the old Kaluga highway. 

Dokhturof was loath to make any demonstration, since 
was not now at all clear to him what it was his duty to d 
He had been commanded to attack Fominskoye. 

But where before Broussier had been alone in Fominskoy 
now there was the whole French army. 

Yermolof wanted to act on his own judgment, but Dokhtu 
insisted that it was necessary to have orders from his sere 
highness. It was determined to send a messenger back 
headquarters. 

For this duty was chosen a highly intelligent officer, 
khovitinof, who, in addition to the written report, was to gi 





WAR AND PEACE. 115 


ia verbal report of the whole matter. At midnight Bolkhovitt- 
mof, having received the envelope and the verbal message, 
oped off, accompanied by a Cossack, with extra horses, to 
 aeadquarters. 


ye 

a CHAPTER XVI. 
Ir was a dark, warm, autumn night. There had been a 
‘Steady rain for four days. After changing horses twice, and 
‘miding thirty versts in an hour and a half over the muddy, 
sticky road, Bolkhovitinof reached Letashevko at two o’clock 
lin the morning. Dismounting in front of an izba, on the 
wattled fence of which was the sign, “GuAvNuL SuTap,” or | 
“Headquarters,” and throwing the bridle to his Cossack, he 
went into the dark entry. 

“The general on duty, instantly! Very important!” he 
exclaimed to some one, who had been snoring in the darkness 
jof the entry and started up. 
| “He was very unwell last evening; he hasn’t slept for two 
inights,” whispered a denshchik’s voice, apologetically. “ Bet- 
‘ter wake the captain first.” | 

“Very important —from General Dokhturof,”’ said Bol- 
‘khovitinof, entering the door which was held open for him. 
‘Phe denshchik led the way, and tried to awaken some one. 

“Your nobility ! your nobility !— A courier!” 
| “What, what is it? From whom ?” exclaimed some one’s 
sleepy voice. ; 

“From Dokhturof and from Aleksei Petrovitch. Napoleon 
(is at Fominskoye,” said Bolkhovitinof, not being able to make 
gut, by reason of the darkness, who it was that was question- 
img him, but judging by the sound of the voice that it was not 
Konovnitsuin. 

- The man who had been aroused yawned and stretched him- 
‘self. | 
_ “T don’t like to wake him,” said he, fumbling about for 
something. “ He’s very sick. Maybe it’s a rumor.” 
“Here is the despatch,” said Bolkhovitinof. “I was 
cred to hand it instantly to the general on duty.” 

“Wait, I will strike a light. Where are you, you scamp, 
always asleep!” he cried, addressing the denshchik. 

This was Shcherbinin, Konovnitsuin’s adjutant. “I have 
ound it, I have found it,” he added. | 
» The denshchik kindled a light. Shcherbinin had been 








116 WAR AND PEACE. 


searching for the candlestick. “Akh! the wretched busi- 
ness!” he cried, with disgust. | 

By the candle-light Bolkhovitinof saw Sheherbinin’s youth- 
ful face, and in the opposite corner a man still sound asleep, 
This was Konovnitsuin. 

When the tinder flared up first with blue and then with 
ruddy flame, Shcherbinin lit the tallow candle, from which the 
cockroaches that had been feasting on it dropped to the 
ground, and stared at the messenger. 

Bolkhovitinof was all mud, and in wiping his face on his 
sleeve he smeared it all over him. 

“ Who brought the news ?” asked Shcherbinin, taking the 
envelope. 

“The news is trustworthy,” replied Bolkhovitinof. “The 
prisoners and the Cossack and the scouts are all unanimous in 
saying the same thing.” 

“We can’t help it — must wake him,” said Shcherbinin, 
getting up and going over to the man asleep in a nightcap, and. 
covered with a cloak. 

“ Piotr Petrovitch !” he called. 

Konovnitsuin did not stir. 

“ Headquarters !” he cried, with a smile, knowing that that 
would assuredly waken him. And, in point of fact, the heact 
in the nightcap was immediately lifted. In Konovnitsuin’s 
handsome, resolute face, with the cheeks inflamed with fever, 
there remained for an instant the expression of the visions of 
sleep, far enough removed from the reality; but suddenly he 
shivered ; his face assumed its ordinarily calm and resolut 
expression. 

“Well, then, what is it? From whom?” he asked, not 
hastily, but without unnecessary delay, blinking his eyes at the 
light. 

On hearing the officer’s report, Konovnitsuin broke the sea 
and read the letters. He had hardly finished reading thera 
before he set his feet in woollen stockings down on the earth 
floor, and began to put on his shoes. Then he took off his 
cap, and, running the comb through the locks on his temples, 
he put on his forage cap. . 

“Did you come quickly? Let us go to his serene high) 
ness.” 

Konovnitsuin immediately realized that this news was 0! 
the greatest importance, and that it brooked no delay. H. 
did not take into consideration, or even ask himself, whethe: 
it were good news or bad news. ‘This did not interest him 





WAR AND PEACE. 117 


He looked on the whole business of war not with his intellect 
nor with his reason, but with something else. His soul had a 
deep but unexpressed conviction that all would be well; but 
the confession or expression of this faith that was in him 
seemed to him entirely unnecessary: he had only to do his 
duty. And his duty he did, giving to it all his powers. 

_ Piotr Petrovitch Konovnitsuin, just like Dokhturof, seem- 
ingly out of mere formality, had his name inscribed on the list 
of the so-called heroes of 1812, the Barclays, the Rayev- 
skys, the Yermolofs, the Platofs, the Miloradovitches; just 
like Dokhturof, enjoyed the reputation of being a man of very 
limited capacity and talent; and again, like Dokhturof, 
Konoynitsuin never made plans of battles, but he was always 
found where the greatest difficulties were to be met. Ever 
since his appointment as general on duty he had slept with an 
ypen door, insisting that he should be awakened whenever a 
sourier should come; in battle he was always under fire, so 
ihat Kutuzof chided him for exposing himself recklessly, and 
‘or that reason dreaded to send him into service; and thus 
igain, like Dokhturof, he was one of these invisible springs 
which, without fuss or racket, constitute the most essential 
art of the machine. 

On coming out from the izbé into the damp, dark night, 
onovnitsuin scowled, partly because his headache had grown 
vorse, and partly from the disagreeable thought that occurred 
0 him, that now, at this news, would be aroused all that nest 
f influential men connected with the staff, and especially Be- 
ugsen, who since Tarutino had been at swords’ points with 
<utuzof. How they would propose, discuss, give orders, in- 
erfere!- And this presentiment was disagreeable to him, 
dthough he knew that it was inevitable. 

In point of fact, Toll, to whom he went to communicate this ° 
(ews, immediately began to lay down his ideas for the benefit 
f the general who shared his lodgings with him; and Kono- 
‘nitsuin, after listening in silence until he was tired, reminded 
im that they ought to go to his serene highness’s. 


: ; 
CHAPTER XVII. 


Korvzor, like all old people, slept little at night. In the 
jaytime he frequently dozed at unexpected times, but at night, 
Arowing himself, still dressed, down on his couch, he would 


'e awake and think. 


118 WAR AND PEACE. 


Thus it was at this time. He was lying on his bed, leaning 
his heavy, big, scarred head on his fat hand, and thinking, his 
one eye staring out into the darkness. Since Benigsen, who 
was in correspondence with the sovereign, and had more influ- 
ence with the staff than any one else, had kept out of his way, 
Kutuzof was more at ease in reference to his being urged again. 
to let the troops take part in useless offensive movements. The 
lesson of the battle of Tarutino and of the day before it, ever 
memorable to Kutuzof, must have its effect, he thought. 

“They must understand that it can only be a losing game 
with us to act on the offensive. Patience and Time, they are 
my warrior-heroes,” said Kutuzof to himself. : 

He knew that it was not best to pluck the apple while it 
was green. It would fall of itself when it got ripe; but if you 
pluck it green, then it spoils the apple and the tree, and sets 
your teeth on edge as well. | 

Like an experienced huntsman, he knew that the wild beast; 
was wounded, — wounded as only the whole force of Russia 
could wound; but whether the wound was mortal or not was as 
yet an undecided question. 

Now, by the sending of Lauriston and Berthémi, and by the 
reports of the guerillas, Kutuzof was almost certain that the 
wound was mortal. : 

But proofs were still requisite: it was necessary to wait. _ 

“They want to rush forward and see how they have killed 
him. Wait, and -you’ll see. Always ‘manoeuvres,’ always 
‘offensive movements!’ ” he said to himself. “What for? & 
as to gain distinction. One would think there was something 
jolly in this fighting. They are just like children, from whoni 
you can’t expect reason, for the whole business lies in the fact 
that they all want to prove how well they can fight. But tha 
is not the case now. And what fine manceuvres they are 
always proposing to me! It seems to them that when they 
have devised two or three chances ” —he was thinking about th 
general plan sent from Petersburg —“they have exhauste 
the list, but there’s no end to them.” . 

The vexed question whether the Wild Beast was mortall 
wounded or not at Borodino had been for more than a mont 
suspended over Kutuzof’s head. | a 

On the one hand, the French had taken possession of Mos 
cow; on the other, Kutuzof undoubtedly felt in his whole beim 
that that terrible blow, in the dealing of which had been co 
centrated the force of the united Russian people, must ha 
been mortal, i i 









WAR AND PEACE. 119 


But, in any case, proofs were required, and he had been 
waiting for them for more than a month; and in proportion as 
time slipped away, the more impatient he became. 

As he lay on his couch during these sleepless nights of his, 
he did the same thing that the younger element among his 
generals did,—the very thing for which he reproached them. 
He thought out all possible contingencies, just as the younger 
generals did, but with this difference only, that he placed no 
Jependence on these prognostications, and that he saw them, 
aot in twos or threes, but in thousands. 

_ The more he thought about them, the more abundantly they 
arose before him. He imagined every kind of motion that’ the 
Napoleonic army might make, whether as a whole or in parts; 
wainst Petersburg, against himself, against his flank. There 
was one contingency that he imagined, and this he dreaded more 
han any other, which was that Napoleon might turn against 
um his own weapon, — that he might settle down in Moscow 
ind wait for him. 

' Kutuzof even imagined Napoleon’s army marching back to 
Meduin and Yukhnof, but the one thing that he could not have 
oreseen was the very thing that happened, that senseless, 
sautious doubling to and fro of Napoleon’s army during the first 
‘leven days after it left Moscow; that indecision which ren- 
lered possible what Kutuzof had not till then dared even to 
hink about — namely, the absolute destruction of the French. 

Dorokhof’s report about Broussier’s division, the informa- 
ion imparted by the “ partisans ” in regard to the distresses of 
Napoleon’s army, the rumors of preparation for evacuating 
Woscow, all taken together, confirmed the presumption that 
he French army was worsted and was preparing to flee. But 
hese presumptions only appealed to the younger men, not to 
Cutuzof. 

_ He, with his sixty years’ experience, knew how much de- 
yendence was to be put upon hearsay, knew how prone men 
vho wished anything were to group all the indications in 
uch a way as to conform with their desire, and he knew how 
n such a case as this they are glad to drop out of sight any- 
hing that might seem opposed to it. 

And the more Kutuzof desired this the less he permitted 
tumself to put any trust in it. This question engaged all the 
mergies of his mind. Everything else was for him merely 
he ordinary business of life. And such subordinate business 
of life included his conversation with his staff officers, his 
etters to Madame Stahl* which he wrote from Tarutino, the 


* Mme. de Staél ? 


120 WAR AND PEACE. 


reading of novels, the granting of rewards, his correspond- 
ence with Petersburg, and the like. 

But the destruction of the French, which he had been the 
only one to foresee, was the only real desire of his soul. 

On the night of the twenty-third of October, he was lying 
down, his head resting on his hand, and was thinking about: 
this. 

There was a commotion in the next room, and steps were 
heard: it was Toll, Konovnitsuin, and Bolkhovitinof. 

“Fi! who is there? Come in, come in! What news ay 
eried the field-marshal to them. : 

While the servant was lighting a candle, Toll told the ost 
of the news. 

«“ Who brought it ?” asked Kutuzof, his face amazing Toll, 
when the light was made, by its cold sternness. 

«There can be no doubt about it, your serene highness.” 

“ Bring him in, bring him in.” : 

Kutuzof sat down, stretching out one leg on the bed, and 
resting his huge paunch on the other, which he doubled up. 
He blinked his sound eye, in order to get a better sight of the 
messenger, as though he expected in his features to read the 
answer to what was occupying him. 

“Go on, tell us about it, friend,” said he to Bolkhovitinol 
in his low, senile voice, gathering together over his chest his 
shirt, which had fallen open. ‘Come here, come nearer 
What is this bit of news you have brought me? What 
Napoleon left Moscow? And his army too? Ha?” 

Bolkhovitinof gave him a detailed account, from the very 
beginning, of all that had been committed to him. 

“ Speak faster, faster; don’t torment my very soul,” Kutu 
zof said, interrupting him. 

Bolkhovitinof told the whole story and then remainec 











holy pictures were ranged black against the wall. 
«Lord, my Creator! Thou hast heard our prayer,” said h 

in a trembling voice, folding his hands. “Saviour of Russia 

I thank thee, O Lord.” 
And he burst into tears, 


WAR AND PEACE. 121 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


| From the time that this news came until the end of the 
campaign, all Kutuzof’s activity is confined to exercising his 
power, shrewdness, and persuasion to prevent his troops from 
useless attacks, manceuvres, and encounters with an enemy 
already doomed. 

Dokhturof goes to Malo-Yaroslavetz; but Kutuzof dawdles 
along with his whole army, and gives orders for the evacua- 
tion of Kaluga, retreat behind that town seeming to him 
perfectly practicable. 

Kutuzot falls back; but the enemy, not waiting for his 
retreat, takes to flight in the opposite direction. 

The historians of Napoleon describe for us his clever 
manceuvres at Tarutino and Malo-Yaroslavetz, and make 
aypotheses as to what would have happened if Napoleon had 
succeeded in entering the rich southern provinces. 
| But, not to mention the fact that nothing prevented Napo- 
eon from entering these southern provinces, since the Russian 
my gave him a free road, the historians forget that nothing 
sould have saved the French army, for it already carried 
within itself the inevitable elements of its own destruction. 
How could an army which had found an abundance of pro- 
sions at Moscow, and, instead of keeping them, had tram- 
led them under its feet, an army which, on arriving -at 
omolensk, had, instead of gathering stores, given itself up to 
ullage, — how could this army have saved itself in the prov- 
‘ee of Kaluga, inhabited as it was by a Russian population 
imilar to that of Moscow, and where fire had the same 
yroperty of burning up whatever was set on fire ? 

This army could nowhere have retrieved itself. After 
3orodino and the pillage of Moscow it henceforth bore in 
‘tself the chemical conditions of decomposition. 
' The men of this, which was once an army, ran, like their 
jeaders, knowing not whither, having (Napoleon and every 
oldier) but one desire, to escape as soon as possible from 
his situation, which they all, though vaguely, realized was 
itextricable. 

This was the only reason that at Malo-Yaroslavetz, when 
{apoleon’s generals pretended to hold a council, and various 
pinions were offered, the last opinion of all, General Mou-’ 
on’s, who, being a simple-minded soldier, spoke what all 





122 WAR AND PEACE. 


thought, that they must get away as quickly as possible, 
closed all mouths; and no one, not even Napoleon, could say 
anything against a truth recognized by all. 

But though all knew that they must depart, there still 
remained the shame of confessing that they must take to 
flight. Some external impulse was needed to overcome this 
shame. And the impulse came at the proper time. It was 
what the French called “the emperor’s ambush.” * | 

Early the next morning, after the council, Napoleon, pre- 
tending that he was going to inspect his troops and examine 
the field of battle, past and to come, rode to the centre of his 
lines, accompanied by his suite of marshals and by his guard. 

Some Cossacks, prowling about in search of plunder, stum- 
bled upon the emperor, and alrhost made him prisoner. 

If the Cossacks failed this time to capture Napoleon, it was 
because he was saved by the very thing that proved the 
destruction of the French: love of booty, which on this ocea- 
sion, as at Tarutino, led the Cossacks to neglect men, and 
think only of pillage. They paid no attention to the emperor, 
but flung themselves on the spoils, and Napoleon succeeded 
in escaping. 

When the “children of the Don” —les enfans du Don—- 
were able to lay hold on the emperor himself in the midst of 
his army, it became clear that there was nothing else to be 
done but beat a retreat by the shortest known road. 

Napoleon, with the rotund abdomen of his forty years, no 
longer felt his former agility and courage, and accepted the 
omen. Under the influence of the fright given him by the 
Cossacks, he immediately sided with Mouton, and, as the his- 
torians say, gave the order to retreat along the road to Smolensk. 

The fact that Napoleon agreed with Mouton and that the 
French troops retreated does not prove that Napoleon om 
dered the movement, but that the forces which were acting 
upon the army to push it in the direction of Mozhaisk had 
simultaneously exerted their influence upon Napoleon himself. 






















CHAPTER XIX. 


WHEN a man undertakes any movement he has always a 
object in view. If he has a journey of a thousand versti 
before him he must expect something good at the end 0 
those thousand versts. He must anticipate a promised land 
in order to have strength enough to cover the distance. 


* Le hourra de VEmpereur. 


WAR AND PEACE. 128 


When the French invaded Russia their promised land was 
_Moscow ; when they began their retreat it was ‘their native 
land. But their native land was far, far away; and when a 
‘Iman starts out on a journey of a thousand versts, he must 
surely forget the end in view, and say to himself, « To-day, I 
will go forty versts, and there I shall find rest and lodging; ” 
and during this first stage of his journey this resting-place 
becomes for the time being his ultimate ‘destination, and he 
concentrates upon it all his hopes and desires. 
Aspirations which are found in any isolated man are always 
‘Intensified in a body of men. 
__ To the French, returning over the old Smolensk highway, 
‘the final end in view —the return to the fatherland — was too 
far off; and the immediate goal toward which all their desires 
‘and hopes, magnified to enormous proportions in the whole 
‘body of men, were directed, was Smolensk. 

It was not because they expected to find in Smolensk 
Many provisions or fresh troops, or because they had been 
‘told any such thing; on the contrary, all the generals of the 
‘army, and Napoleon as well, knew that there was very little 
to be found at Smolensk, — but because this was the only 
‘thing that could give the soldiers the power to march and to 
endure the privations of the moment, that those who knew 
the truth and those who knew it not, alike deceiving them- 
Selves, struggled toward Smolensk as their promised land. 

Once on the high-road, the French hurried toward this ficti- 
‘tious destination, with a remarkable energy and unprecedented 
velocity. 

-_ Besides the general yearning for a single object, on which 
the whole body of the French army was united and which 
‘mparted a certain additional energy, there was still another 
Jause uniting them. This cause was found in their aggre- 
‘zation. 

_ This enormous multitude, as if obedient to the physical law 
‘Mf attraction, drew to itself all isolated atoms of men. These 
adundred thousand men moved on in a compact mass like a 
whole empire! 

Hach man among them wished for but one thing —to fall 
nto captivity, and so to be delivered from all their horrors and 
ufferings. But, on the one hand, the power of the common 
‘mpulse toward their goal, Smolensk, carried each one in the 
ame direction. 

_ On the other hand it was impossible for an entire corps to 
urrender to a single company, and, although the French took 


124 WAR AND PEACE. 


advantage of every convenient occasion to separate from their 
fellows, and-at even the slightest pretext surrendered to the 
Russians, these pretexts did not always offer. 

The great numbers of them and their hard, rapid march 
deprived them of these possibilities, and made it not only dif- 
ficult, but impossible, for the Russians to arrest this move- 
ment in which was concentrated the entire energy of such a 
mass of the French. 

The mechanical disruption of the body could not hasten, 
beyond a certain limit, the process of decomposition in 
progress. ‘ | 

It is impossible to melt a snowball in an instant. There 
exists a certain limit of time before which no power of heat 
can melt the snow. On the contrary, the greater the heat the 
more solidified is the snow which remains. 

With the exception of Kutuzof, none of the Russian gen- 
erals understood this. When the retreat of the French army 
took the definite shape of flight along the Smolensk road, 
they began to realize the truth of what Konoynitsuin had 
foreseen on the night of October 28. 

All the superior generals of the army wished to distinguish 
themselves, to cut the French off, to take them prisoners, to 
set upon them; and all demanded offensive operations. 

Kutuzof alone employed all his powers— the powers of 
any commanding general are very small — to resist offensive 
operations. 

He could not say what we can say to-day —why fight 
battles, why dispute the road, why lose your own men, and 
why inhumanly kill unfortunate wretches ? why do all this, 
when from Moscow to Viazma, without any combat whatever, 
a third of this army has disappeared ? but drawing from 
his wisdom what they might have understood, he told them 
about “the golden bridge;”* and they mocked him, slan- 
dered him, and hurled themselves upon the dying Beast to 
rend it and cut it in pieces. | 

At Viazma, Yermolof, Miloradovitch, Platof, and others, 
finding themselves near the French, could not restrain them- 
selves from cutting off and destroying two French army corps; 
Kutuzof they derided by sending him a sheet of blank paper 
in an envelope, instead of a report of their undertaking. 

And in spite of all Kutuzof’s efforts to restrain our troops, 


the troops assailed the French, and endeavored to dispute 


* « Let them cross the golden bridge ;” that is, ‘‘ Give them every chance 
of self-destruction.” 


} 





te WAR AND bEACE. 125 


their way. Regiments of infantry, we are told, with music 
and drums, boldly advanced to the attack, and killed and lost 
thousands of men. 

But they could not cut off the fugitives, or exterminate - 
the enemy. And the French army, drawing its ranks more 
closely together, because of the danger, and regularly melting 
away, advanced along this — its fatal road to Smolensk. 


PART THIRD. 
CHAPTER I. 


Tux battle of Borodino, with the successive occupation of 
Moscow and the flight of the French army without further 
battles, is one of the most instructive events of history. : 

All historians agree that the external activity of states and 
peoples, in their mutual collisions, is expressed by war; that 
immediately after great or petty military successes the politi- 
cal power of states and nations is increased or diminished. 

Strange as it seems in reading history to find that such and 
such a king or emperor, on quarrelling with other emperors or 
kings, gets his troops together, attacks the enemy’s army, 
wins the victory, kills three thousand, five thousand, ten thou- 
sand men, and in consequence of this vanquishes a whole 
state and a whole population of millions of men; hard as i 
is to understand why the defeat of an army —the loss of a 
hundredth part of all a nation’s forces — should compel the 
submission of the entire nation, yet all the facts of history, 
so far as it is known to us, confirm the justice of the assertion 
that the greater or less success of the army of any nation a 
war with another is the cause, or at least the essential indica- 
tion, of the increase or decrease of the power of those nations. 

When an army has won a victory, instantly the “rights ”” of 
the victorious nation are increased to the detriment of th 
vanquished. When an army has suffered defeat, immediately 
the nation is deprived of “rights” in proportion to th 
defeat; and when the army has been completely defeated, th 
nation is completely vanquished. 

This has been the case, according to history, from the mos 
ancient to the most recent times. All of Napoleon’s wait 
serve to confirm this truth. 

In proportion as the Austrian troops were defeated, Austri 
lost its “rights,” while the rights and powers of France wer 
magnified. 

The victories of the French at Jena and Austerlitz destroye 
the independence of Prussia. 

126 





WAR AND PEACE. 127 


But suddenly in 1812 the “battle of the Moskva” was won 
by the French, Moscow was captured; and yet, though no more 
battles were fought, Russia ceased not to exist, while this 
army of six hundred thousand men did cease to exist, and 
subsequently the France of Napoleon. 
|, To force facts to fit the rules of history, to say that the 
battle-field of Borodino was won by the Russians, or that, 
after the occupation of Moscow, battles were fought that ex- 
terminated Napoleon’s army, —is impossible. 

__ After the victory of the French at Borodino, not only was 
‘there no general battle, but no battle of any importance; and 
iyet the French army ceased to exist. | 
| What does this fact signify ? 
' If such a thing had occurred in the history of China, we 
‘might say that 1t was not a historical event —the favorite loop- 
‘hole of historians when facts do not fit theories ; if 1t were 
4 question of a conflict of short duration in which small forces 
‘teok part, we might declare the event an exception to the 
\yeneral rule. 
| But this event took place under the eyes of our fathers, for 
‘whom the question of the life or death’ of their country was 
‘lecided, and this war was the most momentous of all known 
Wars. | 
That period in the campaign of 1812, from the battle of 
3orodino to the retreat of the French, proved not only that a 
Mattle won is not always a cause of conquest, but also that it 
nay not be even a sign of conquest; proved that the force 
‘which decides the destiny of nations consists not in con- 
{uerors, or even in armies and battles, but in something 
‘lifferent. 
“The French historians, describing the condition of the 
troops before the evacuation of Moscow, assure us that every- 
‘hing was in good order in the “Grand Army,” excepting the 
avalry, the artillery, and the wagon-trains ; forage being also 
acking for the horses and cattle. There was no help for this 
vil, for the muzhiks of the region around burned their hay, 
nd would not let the French have it. 
' The victory won by the French did not bring the usual 
sults, because of the muzhiks Karp and Vlas, who, after the ° 
eparture of the French, went to Moscow with carts to plun- 
‘er the citv, and who personally, as a rule, manifested no 
eroic sentiments; and yet the whole innumerable throng of 
milar muzhiks refused to carry hay to Moscow in spite 
[ the money offered to them, but burned it. 












* 128 WAR AND PEACE. 


Let us imagine two men engaged in a duel with swords ac- | 
cording to all the rules of the art of fencing. For a consider- } 
able time the parrying has continued ; then suddenly one of the | 
contestants, feeling that he has been wounded, realizing that | 
the affair is no joke, but that his life depends upon it, throws 
aside his sword, and, seizing the first club that comes to hand, 
begins to wield it. 

Now let us imagine that this man, who so wisely employs 
the best and simplest method for attaining his object, 1s at | 
the same time imbued with the traditions of chivalry, and, 
wishing to conceal the truth, should insist upon it that he | 
was victorious over the sword according to the rules of the | 
art of fencing. It can ‘be imagined what confusion and lack 
of clearness would arise from such a story. 

The duellist who demands an encounter according to the | 
rules of the art is the French; his enemy, who throws away | 
his sword and takes up a club, is the Russians; those who | 
try to explain everything according to the rules of fencing | 
are the historians who have described these events. 

From the time of the burning of Smolensk began a form | 
of war which does not belong to any of the former traditions | 
of war. 

The burnings of towns and villages, battles followed by 
retreats, the blow at Borodino and the retreat, the burning of } 
Moscow, the hunting down of marauders, the intercepting of | 
provision-trains, the “ partisan ” warfare, —all this was con- 
trary to the rules. : 

Napoleon felt this; and from the very time when he stood 
in Moscow, in the regular position of fencing, and discovered | 
that the hand of his opponent held a club over him instead ot | 
a sword, he did not cease to complain to Kutuzof and the | 
Emperor Alexander that the war was conducted contrary to | 
all rules —as if there were rules for the killing of men! | 

But, in spite of all the complaints of the French about the | 





they could fight, — en qguarte, en tierce, and make the clever) 
thrust, en prime, and so on, — the club of the popular war was 
lifted in all its threatening and majestic power, and, caring} 
nothing for good taste and rules, with stupid simplicity but) 
sound judgment, not making distinctions, it was lifted, and 
fell and pounded the French until the whole army of invaders 
perished, | 


WAR AND PEACE. 129 


| And honor be to that people who did not as the French did 
/in 1813, who saluted the enemy according to all the rules of 
‘the art, and, reversing their swords, politely and gracefully 
handed them to their magnanimous conqueror. Honor be to 
| that people who in the moment of trial, not asking how others 
‘had acted in conformity to rules in similar circumstances, 
|simply and quickly seized the first club at hand, and wielded 
jit until the feeling of anger and vengeance in their hearts 
|gave way to contempt and pity! 






CHAPTER. II. 


| 
a 
| One of the most obvious and advantageous infractions of 
jthe so-called rules of war is the action of isolated individ- 
|aals against troops crowded together into a mass. 

| This sort of activity is always seen in wars which assume 
ipopular character. This form of warfare consists in this, 
(shat, instead of one compact body meeting another compact 
ody, men disperse, attack separately, and instantly retire 
when threatened by superior forces, and then re-appear at the 
jirst favorable opportunity. | 

| Thus did the Guerillas in Spain, thus did the mountaineers 
n the Caucasus, thus did the Russians in 1812. 

Warfare of this sort is called “partisan” or guerilla 
| varfare, and when it is thus named its meaning is ex- 
 lained. 

This sort of warfare, however, not only fails to come under 
|ny rules, but is opposed directly to a well-known and infal- 
tble law of tactics. This law demands that the assailant 
hall concentrate his troops so as to be, at the moment of 
ombat, stronger than his enemy. 

_ Partisan warfare (always successful, as history proves) is 
irectly opposed to that law. 

| This contradiction arises from the fact that military science 
akes the strength of armies to be identical with their num- 
ers. Military science says: The more troops, the greater 
the strength. Great battalions are always right: Les gros 
Ataillons ont toujours raison. In making this assertion, mili- 
\ary science is like the science of mechanics, which, consider- 
j1g the momenta of moving bodies only in relation to their 
}lasses, affirms that these forces will be equal or unequal as 
1eir masses are equal or unequal. 

VOL. 4.—9. 










180 WAR AND PEACE. 


Momentum (the quantity of movement) is the product of | 
the mass into the velocity. 

In war the momentum of troops is likewise the product of 
the mass multiplied by some unknown quantity, &. 

Military science, seeing in history an infinite collection 
of examples, that the mass of armies does not coincide with | 
the strength, and that small detachments have conquered 
large ones, confusedly recognizes the existence of this un- | 
known factor, and tries to discover it now in geometrical com- | 
binations, now in differences of armament, now, and this | 
most generally, in the genius of the commanders. 

But the values given to all these factors do not suffice to | 
account for the results in accordance with historical facts. 

Meantime it is sufficient for us to rid ourselves of the false | 
idea, invented for the pleasure of heroes, that in the effect of 
the arrangements made by the commanders in time of war, we | 
shall find this unknown «x. . hn 

This zis the spirit of the army; in other words, the more | 
or less intense desire of all the men composing the army 60 | 
fight and expose themselves to perils, independently of the | 
question whether they are under the command of men ol | 
genius or otherwise, whether they fight in three or two ranks, | 
whether they are armed with clubs, or with guns delivering | 
thirty shots a minute. | | 

Men who have the most intense desire to fight always put 
themselves in the most advantageous position for fighting. | 

The spirit of the army is the factor, multiplied by the mass, | 
which gives the product, power. ‘To determine and express | 
the meaning of the spirit of the army — that unknown facton' | 
—is the problem of science. | 

The problem is possible only when we cease to put arbi-! 
trarily, in place of this unknown a, the conditions under whiel1} 
the momentum is produced, such as the dispositions of the 
commander, the armament, and so on, and disregarding them 
as the significant factor, realize this unknown quantity in all 
its integration as the more or less active desire animating the 
men to fight and confront danger. 

Only then when we express known historical facts by meant 
of equations can we, by a comparison of the relative value of 
this unknown factor, determine the unknown factor. 

Ten men, battalions, or divisions, fighting with fifteen men, 
battalions, or divisions, conquer the fifteen, that is, kill them 
or take them all prisoners without exception, themselves) 
losing only four. On one side fifteen have been exterminated, 







WAR AND PEACE. 131 
}on the other four. In reality the four were equal to the 
| fifteen, and consequently . 
4a = 1by ; 


| consequently 
| ey: 4. 





| This equation does not give the value of the unknown fac- 
} tor, but it expresses the relations between the two unknown 
| factors, and, by putting into the form. of similar equations 
| pa units taken separately, — battles, campaigns, periods 
| Of war, —a series of numbers will be obtained in which laws 


! 


must exist and may be discovered. 

_. The rule of tactics commanding troops to act in masses 
j during an attack, and separately in a retreat, is an uncon- 
|scious expression of the truth that the strength of troops 
j depends upon their spirit. Better discipline is required to 
) lead men into fire than to induce them to defend themselves 
Hgeainst assailants, and is obtained exclusively by movements 
) In masses. 

) But this rule, which takes no account of the spirit of the » 
troops, constantly proves fallacious and particularly opposed 
| to the reality, when there is an increased or diminished spirit 
| among the troops — in all popular wars. | 

| - The French, in retreating in 1812, though they should, ac- 
} cording to tactics, have defended themselves separately, drew 
/ into closer masses, because the spirit of the troops had fallen 
) so low that the army could be maintained only by holding the 
men in mass. 

| The Russians, on the contrary, ought, according to tactics, 
‘to have attacked in mass; but.in fact they scattered their 
| forces, because the spirit of their troops had risen so high 
that isolated men attacked the French without waiting for 
‘orders, and had no need of constraint to induce them to expose 
‘themselves to fatigues and perils. | i 







ie 


CHAPTER III. 


Tae so-called partisan or guerilla war* began with the 

‘arrival of the French at Smolensk. 

/ Before this guerilla warfare was officially recognized by our 
government, thousands of the hostile army — mauraders left 


* Partizénskaya voind. 


132 WAR AND PEACE. 


behind, and foraging parties — had been exterminated by Cos- | 
sacks and muzhiks, who killed these men as instinctively as | 
dogs worry to death a mad dog that has run astray. 

Denis Davuidof, with his keen Russian scent, was the first | 
to understand the significance of this terrible cudgel, which, 
without regard to the rules of military science, annihilated 
the French, and to him belongs the glory of taking the first 
step toward formulating this sort of warfare. 

On the fifth of September, Davuidof’s first partisan squad | 
was organized; and after the example of his, others were or- | 
ganized. The longer the campaign continued, the greater | 
became the number of these bands. 

The partisans demolished the “Grand Army ” in detach- | 
ments. They trampled down the fallen leaves which came off | 
from the dried tree — the French army — and now and again | 
shook the tree itself. | 

In October when the French were on their way back to | 
Smolensk, there were hundreds of these bands, of various | 
sizes and characters. There were bands which had all the | 
appurtenances of a regular army — infantry, artillery, staff | 
officers —and many of the comforts of life: others consisted | 
solely of Cossacks, cavalry; there were others of insignificant | 
size, gathered at haphazard, infantry and cavalry mixed; there | 
were those composed of muzhiks, and those organized by land- | 
owners, and others that owned no allegiance to any com- | 
mander. 

A diachék or sacristan was the leader of one band, which, | 
in the course of a month, took several hundred prisoners: and | 
there was the wife of a village starosta, named Vasilisa, who } 
killed hundreds of the French. | 

The early days of November saw the greatest development | 
of this partisan warfare. The first period of this kind of war | 
— during which the “ partisans” themselves were amazed at | 
their own audacity, were afraid every moment of being sur-| 
prised and surrounded by the French, and kept hid in the 
forests, not unsaddling, and scarcely venturing to dismount 
from their horses, expecting to be pursued at any moment — 
was past. 

By this time this kind of warfare had taken definite form ; 
it had become clear to all what they could do and what they 
could not do in grappling with the French. 

The leaders of bands, who had regular staffs, and followed 
rules, kept at a respectful distance from the French, and were 
chary of undertaking certain things, which they regarded as 





WAR AND PEACE. 183 


Impossible. Petty partisans whol had been engaged for some 
‘time in the business, and had gained a close acquaintance 
with the French, considered feasible what the leaders of the 
large bands would not dare even to think of. 

Cossacks and muzhiks who slipped easily in and out among 
the French reckoned that everything was possible. 
On the fourth of November, Denisof, who was one of these 
ge leaders, found himself, with his band, in the very 
‘brunt of partisan excitement. Since morning, he and his band 
had been on the march. All day long, keeping under shelter 
of the forest that skirted the highway, he had been following 
a large French convoy of cavalry baggage and Russian 
_prisoners, isolated from the other troops, and under a power- 
ie escort, on its way to Smolensk, as was known from scouts 
| 





and prisoners. 

The existence of this train was known, not only to Denisof 

and Dolokhof — who was also a partisan leader with a small 
‘band, and was advancing close by —but to the nachalniks of 
several large bands, with their staffs, —all knew about this 
‘train, and, as Denisof expressed it, “were whetting their 
‘teeth for it.” 
Two of these large bands, one commanded by a Polyak, the 
other by a German, almost simultaneously sent to Denisof 
‘to join forces, each inviting him to help them attack the 
transport.” 

“No, thank you, bwother, I shave my own whiskers,” said 
‘Denisof, as he read their letters ; and he replied to the Ger- 
man that, in spite of the heartfelt desire which he had of 
serving under the command of such a valiant and distin- 
guished general, he should have to deprive himself of that 
|oleasure, because he had already joined the command of the 
Polish general. 

_ And to the Polish general he wrote the same thing, assur- 
bg him that he had already joined the command of the 
| werman. 

Having thus disposed of these matters, Denisof made his 
‘dlans without reference to these high officials, to join in com- 
gany with Dolokhof, and attack and capture this train, with 
ihe small force at their command. 

The “ transport” was proceeding, on the fourth of Novem- 
Jer, from the village of Mikulino to the village of Shamshevo. 
Jn the left-hand side of the road between the two villages ran 
'y dense forest, in places approaching the road, in places reced- 
ng from the road a verst and more. 








134 WAR AND PEACE. 


It was under the cover of this forest, now hiding in its 
depths, now approaching its edge, that Denisof had been ad- 
vancing all day long, with his band not once losing the French 
from sight. if 

In the morning, not far from Mikulino, where the forest | 
came nearest to the road, the Cossacks of Denisof’s band had | 
seized two of the French wagons, loaded with cavalry saddles, | 
which had got stuck in the mud, and made off with them into | 
the forest. : 

From that time until evening, the band, without attacking, 
followed the French in all their movements. | 

It was necessary to allow them, without being alarmed, to | 
reach Shamshevo in safety ; there Denisof would unite with | 
Dolokhof, who was to come for a consultation, that evening, to | 
a designated spot in the forest, about a verst from Shamshevo, | 
and at daybreak they would fall upon them from two sides at | 
once quite unexpectedly — “like snow on the head,” as the | 
saying goes—and defeat and capture the whole host at one | 
fell blow. | 

Two versts in the rear of Mikulino, where the forest ap- | 
proached the road, six Cossacks were to be left, who were to | 
report instantly in case new columns of the French showed | 





up. 

In front of Shamshevo, Dolokhof was to scour the road so | 
as to know at what distance other French troops might be. 

The “transport” mustered fifteen hundred men. Denisot | 
had two hundred, and Dolokhof might have as many. But | 
the preponderance of numbers did not deter Denisof. The | 
only thing that he cared now to know was what sort of mep | 
composed these troops, and, with this end in view, Denisof 
wanted to capture a tongue ; that is, a man from the enemy’s | 
ranks. In the morning, when they fell upon the two wagons, } 
‘the affair was accomplished with such celerity that all the | 
French in charge of the two wagons had been killed, and the | 
only one taken alive was a drummer boy who had remained! 
behind, and was incapable of giving any decided information | 
about the kind of men that formed the column. 

To make a second descent, Denisof considered, would be ati 
the risk of arousing the whole column, and therefore he sent 
forward to Shamshevo the muzhik Tikhon Shcherbatof, one 
of his band, to pick up, if possible, one of the French quarter:| 
masters who would be likely to be there in advance. ; 


AR AND PEACE. 185 


CHAPTER IV. 


Ir was a mild, rainy, autumn day. The sky and the earth 
blended in the same hue, like that of turbid water. At one 


‘moment it was precipitated in the form of fog; at the next, 


7. 


— 


‘suddenly round, slanting drops of rain would fall. 


Denisof, in his burka or felt cloak, and papakh or Cossack 
cap, from which the water was streaming, was riding along on 


-alean thoroughbred with tightened girths. Like “his horse, 





he kept his head bent and ears alert, and, scowling at the 


slanting rain, peered anxiously ahead. His face was some- 


» what thinner than of yore, and with its growth of thick, short 
' black beard, looked fierce. 


Abreast of Denisof, also in burka and papakh, on a plump, 


- coarse-limbed Don pony, rode a Cossack esaul,* Denisof’s 
igelly. 


A third, the saul Lovaiski, likewise in burka and papakh, 


was a long-limbed, light-complexioned man, as flat as a plank, 


nk A. EY as —~ | 





with narrow, bright eyes and a calmly self-confident expres- 
sion both of face and pose. Although it-was impossible to 
tell wherein consisted the individuality of horse and rider, 
still at a glance first at the esaul and then at Denisof, it was 
evident that Denisof was wet and uncomfortable, that Denisof 
was a man who merely rode his horse; while on looking at the 
esaul, it was evident that he was as comfortable and confident 
as ever, and that he was not a man who merely rode the 


horse, but a man who was one being with his horse, and thus 
_ possessed of double strength. 


A short distance ahead of them walked their guide, a little 


"peasant in a gray kaftan and a white cap, wet to the skin. 


A little behind them, on a lean, slender Kirgiz pony with a 


huge tail and mane and with mouth bloody and torn, rode a 


young officer in a blue French capote. 
Next him rode a hussar, who had taken up behind him, on 


his horse’s crupper, a lad in a torn French uniform and blue 
cap. This lad clung to the hussar with hands red with cold, 


and rubbed his bare feet together to warm them, and gazed 
around him in amazement with uplifted brows. This was the 
French drummer boy whom they had taken prisoner that 


_ mnorning. 


* Fsaul at the present time is the Cossack title corresponding to captain 


| ofa 4m or hundred ; sotnik (ceuturion) was the former term. 


136 WAR AND PEACE. 


Behind them, three and four deep, stretched the line of hus- | 
sars along the narrow, winding, and well-worn forest path; | 
then came Cossacks, some in burkas, some in French capotes, | 
some with cavalry housings thrown over their heads. Their 
horses, whether roan or bay, seemed all black as coal in the 
rain which was streaming from them. 

The horses’ necks seemed strangely slender from their soaked 
manes. From the horses arose a steam. The clothes and | 
the saddles -.nd the bridles, — everything was wet, slippery, and | 
limp, just like the ground and the fallen leaves which covered | 
the path. The men sat with scowling faces, trying not to 
move, so as to warm the water that had trickled down their 
backs and not to allow any fresh invasion of cold water to | 
get under their saddles, on their knees, or down their necks. | 

In the midst of the long train of Cossacks the two wagons | 
drawn by French and Cossack horses (the latter harnessed in | 
with their saddles on) rattled over the stumps and roots | 
and splashed through the ruts full of water. | 

Denisof’s horse, avoiding a puddle which covered the road, | 
sprang to one side and struck his knee against a tree. 
“ «Oh, the devil!” cried Denisof wrathfully, and, showing | 
his teeth, he gave the horse three blows with the whip, spat- | 
tering himself and his comrades with mud. Denisof was not | 
in good spirits, owing to the rain and his hunger, —he had | 
eaten nothing since morning, —and principally because noth- ! 
ing had been heard from Dolokhof, and because the man sent 
to capture “the tongue” had not returned. 

“We sha’n’t be likely to find another chance like to-day’s to | 
stwike the twansport twain. To attack them alone is too | 
much of a wisk; and to wait till another day—some of | 
those big bands of partisans will be sure to snatch it away | 
from under our very noses,” said Denisof, who kept his eyes | 
constantly toward the front, thinking that he might see the | 
expected messenger from Dolokhof. 7 . | 

On coming out into a vista where there was a clear view | 
extending to some distance toward the right, Denisof reined | 
hie 

“Some one’s coming,” said he. 

The esaul looked in the direction indicated by Denisof. | 

“There are two of them —an officer and Cossack. Only | 
you don’t pre-suppose that it is the sub-heutenant himself, | 
do you?” said the esaul, who liked to brirg in words that | 
were not in use among the Cossacks. | 

The riders who were coming down upon them were lost 








- WAR AND PEACE. 137 


‘from sight, and after a little while re-appeared again. The 
officer, with dishevelled hair, wet to the skin, and with his 
‘trousers worked up above his very knees, came riding 1m _ad- 
‘vance at a weary gallop, urging his horse with his whip. 
‘Behind him, standing up in his stirrups, trotted his Cossack. 
| This officer, a very young lad, with a broad, rosy face and 
‘alert, mischief-loving eyes, galloped up to Denisof and handed 
him a wet envelope. ; 

' «From the general,” said the officer. “Excuse it not being 
perfectly dry.” . 
Denisof, frowning, took the envelope and started to break - 
the seal. ‘ 

| “Now they all said it was dangerous — dangerous,” said 
‘the young officer, turning to the esaul while Denisof was 
reading the letter. “However, Komdrof — he pointed to the 
Cossack — Komarof* and I made all our plans. We each had 
two pist — But who is that ?” he asked, breaking off in the 
‘middle of the word on catching sight of the French drummer 
‘boy. “A prisoner? Have youhada fight? May I speak 
“with him ? ” 

“Wostof! Petya!” cried Denisof, at that instant having 
run through the letter that had been given him. “ Why 
didn’t you say who you were?” and Denisof, with a smile, 
“turning round, gave the young officer his hand. 

“This young officer was Petya Rostotf! 

| All the way Petya had been revolving in his mind how he 
should behave toward Denisof as became a full-fledged officer, 

and not give a hint of their former acquaintance. 

| But as soon as Denisof smiled on him, Petya immediately 

| 








became radiant, flushed with delight, and forgot the formality 
which he had stored up against the occasion, and began to 
tell him how he had galloped past the French, and how glad 
he was that such a commission: had been intrusted to hin, 
and how he had been in the battle near Viazma, where a cer- 
tain hussar greatly distinguished himself. 

“ Well, I’m wight glad to see you,” said Denisof, interrupt- 
ing him, and then his face assumed again its anxious expres- 
sion. “Mikhail Feoklituitch,” said he, turning to the esaul, 
“you see this is from the German again. He insists on our 
| joining him.” | 
And Denisof proceeded to explain to the esaul that the 
contents of the letter just received consisted in a reiterated 
request from the German general to unite with him in an 


* Name derived from Komdr, a mosquito. 


: 


i 
lg 





138 WAR AND PEACE. 


attack on the transport train. “If we don’t get at it to- 
mowow, he will certainly take it away from under our vewy 
noses,” he said in conclusion. 

While Denisodf was talking with the esaul, Petya, abashed 
by Denisof’s chilling tone, and supposing that the reason for 
it might be the state of his trousers, strove to pull them 
down under shelter of his cloak, so that no one would notice 
him, and did his best to assume as military an aspect as 
possible. 

“Will there be any order from your excellency ?”* he 
asked of Denisof, raising his hand to his visor, and again 
returning to the little comedy of generai and aide for which 
he had rehearsed himself —“ Or should I remain with your 
excellency ? ” 

“Orders ?” repeated Denisof thoughtfully. “Can you 
wemain till to-mowow ?” 

“Akh! please let me.—May I stay with you?” cried 
Petya. 

“T suppose your orders from the genewal were to weturn 
immediately — weren’t they ? ” asked Denisof. 

Petya reddened. 

“He said nothing at all’ about it; I think I can,” he replied 
somewhat doubtfully. 

“Well, all wight!” said Denisof. And, turning to his sub- 
ordinates, he made various arrangements for the party to make 
their way to the place of rendezvous at the watch-house in 
the forest that had been agreed upon, and for the officer on 
the Kirgiz horse —this officer performed the duties of 
adjutant “_to ride off in search of Dolokhof, and find whether 
he would come that evening or not. 

Denisof himself determined to ride down with the esaul 
and Petya to the edge of the forest nearest to Shamshevo to 
reconnoitre the position of the French, and find the best place 
for making their attack on the following day. 

“And now, gwaybeard,” said he, turning to the muzhik who 
was serving as their guide, “take us to Shamshevo.” 
Denisof, Petya, and the esaul, accompanied by a few Cos- 
sacks and the hussar who had charge of the prisoner, rode 
off to the left, through the ravine, toward the edge of the 
forest. 


* Vuisokoblagorédiye, high well-born-ness. 


WAR AND PEACE. 139 


CHAPTER V. 


Ir had ceased to rain; there was merely a drizzling mist, 
and the drops of water fell from the branches of the trees. 
' Denisof, the esaul, and Petya rode silently behind the 
muzhik, who, lightly and noiselessly plodding along in his 
bast lapti over the roots and wet leaves, led them to the edge 
‘of the wood. 
_ On reaching the crest of a slope, the muzhik paused, gave 
aswift glance, and strode toward where the wall of trees 
was thinner. Under a great oak which had not yet shed 
its leaves he paused, and mysteriously beckoned with his 
‘hand. 
_. Denisof and Petya rode up to him. From the place where 
she muzhik was standing, the French could be seen. Imme- 
liately back of the forest, occupying the lower half of the 
slope, spread a field of spring corn. At the right, beyond a 
‘steep ravine, could be seen a small village and the manor 
douse * with dilapidated roofs. In this hamlet, and around 
‘he mansion house, and over the whole hillside and in the 
jarden, around the well and the pond, and along the whole 
‘oad up from the bridge to the village, which was not more 
‘han quite a quarter of a mile, throngs of men could be seen 
im the rolling mist. Distinctly could be heard their non- 
‘Russian cries to the horses that were dragging the teams up 
‘he hill, and their calls to each other. 

“Bring the prisoner here,” said Denisof in a low tone, not 

aking his eyes from the French. 
A Cossack dismounted, helped the lad down, and came with 
aim to Denisof. Denisof, pointing to the French, asked what 
Toops such and such divisions were. The little drummer, 
tuffing his benumbed hands into his pockets, and lifting his 
ywrows, gazed at Denisof in affright, and, in spite of his 
vident anxiety to tell all that he knew, got confused in his 
eplies, and merely said yes to all that Denisof asked him. 
Jenisof, scowling, turned from him, and addressed the esaul, 
0 whom he communicated his impressions. 

Petya, moving his head with quick gestures, looked now at 
he little drummer boy, now at Denisof, and from him to the 
saul, then at the French in the village, and did his best not 
0 miss anything of importance that was going on. 


* Barsky démik. 


7 


140 WAR AND PEACE. 
/ 























“ Whether Dolokhof come or do not come, we must make 
the attempt—hey?” said Denisof, his eyes flashing with 
animation. 

“ An excellent place,” replied the esaul. 

“We'll attack the infantry on the low land —the swamp,” 
pursued Denisof. “They’ll escape into the garden. You and 
the Cossacks will set on them from that side.” Denisof 
pointed to the woods beyond the village. “ And I from this, 
with my hussars. And when a gun is fired” — 

“ You won’t be able to cross the ravine — there’s a quagmire,” 
said the esaul. ‘The horses would be mired — you'll have to 
strike farther to the left.” — 

While they were thus talking in an undertone, there rang 
out below them, in the hollow where the pond was, a single 
shot; a white puff of smoke rolled away, then another, and 
they heard friendly, as it were jolly, shouts from hundreds of 
the French on the hillside. 

‘At the first instant both Denisof and the esaul drew back. 
They were so near that it seemed to them that they were 
what had occasioned those shots and shouts. 

But the shots and shouts had no reference to them. Below 
them across the swamp a man in something red was running. 
It was evidently at this man that the French had shot, and 
were shouting. 

“Ha! that’s our Tikhon,” said the esaul. 

“So it is, so it 1s.” 

“Oh! the wascal!” exclaimed Denisof. 

“He'll escape ’em!” said the esaul, blinking his eyes. 

The man whom they called Tikhon ran down to the creek 
plunged into it, spattering the water in every direction, and 
disappearing for a moment, he crawled out on all-fours, anc 
black with water, dashed off once more. 

The French who had started in pursuit paused. 

“Cleverly done!” exclaimed the esaul. 

“What a beast!” snarled Denisof, with the same expressior 
of vexation as before. “And what has he been up to all thi 
time ? ” : 

“Who is it?” asked Petya. 

“Our plastin.* We sent him to catch ‘a tongue. 

“Oh, yes,” said Petya, at Denisof’s first word, nodding hi 
head as though he understood, although really the answer wi 
perfectly enigmatical. . 


9 99 


* Plastun (plastoon), the name of a sharp-shooter who lies in ambush, 0 
a scout, among the Black-Sea Cossacks. 


WAR AND PEACE. 141 


Tikhon Shcherbatui * was one of the most useful men of the 
ioand. He was a muzhik from Pokrovskoye — near Gzhatya. 

When Denisof, toward the beginning of his enterprise, 
reached Pokrovskoye, and, according to his usual custom, sum- 
‘noned the starosta, or village elder, and asked him what news 
jhey had about the French, the starosta had replied, as all 
'starostas always reply, as though called to account for some 
nischief, that they had not seen or heard anything. 

But when Denisof explained to him that his aim was to beat 
jhe French, then the starosta told him that “ miroders ” had 
imly just been there, but that only one man in their village, 
Tishka Shcherbatui, troubled himself about such things. 
| Denisof ordered Tikhon to be summoned, and, after prais- 
ug him for his activity, he spoke to him, in the starosta’s 
Joresence, a few words: about their fidelity to the tsar and the 
fatherland, and that hatred toward the French which the sons 
of the fatherland were in duty bound to manifest. 

» “We haven’t done any harm to the French,” said Tikhon, 
evidently confused by this speech of Denisof’s. ‘ We only 
amused ourselves, as you might say, with the boys. We 
‘silled a few dozen of the miroders, that was all; but we 
‘laven’t done ’em any harm.” 

| On the next day when Denisof, who had entirely forgotten 
vbout this muzhik, was starting away from Pokrovskoye, he 
was informed that Tikhon had joined the band, and asked 
ermission to stay. Denisof gave orders to keep him. 

Tikhon, who at first was given the “ black work ” of making 
jamp-fires, fetching water, carrying horses, quickly displayed 
reat willingness and aptitude for partisan warfare. He 
would go out at night after booty, and every time he would 

return with French clothes and arms, but when it was enjomed 
ipon him he would even bring in prisoners. 

Denisof then relieved Tikhon from drudgery, began to take 
‘im with him in his raids, and enrolled him among the Cos- 
sacks. 

Tikhon was not fond of riding horseback, and always trav- 
etled on foot, but he never let the cavalry eet ahead of him. 
His weapons consisted of a musket, which he carried out of 
sport, a lance, and a hatchet, which he used as a wolf uses its 
B with equal facility eliciting a flea out of his hair or 





runching stout bones. Tikhon, with absolute certainty, would 
iplit a brain with his hatchet at any distance, and, taking it by 
ihe but, he would cut out dainty ornaments, or carve spoons. 


%* The gap-toothed. 


142 WAR AND PEACE. 


In Denisof’s band Tikhon enjoyed an exclusive and excep- 
tional position. When there was need of doing anything espe- 
cially difficult and obnoxious, — to put a shoulder to a team, 
stuck in the mud, or to pull a horse from the bog by the tail, 
or act as knacker, or make his way into the very midst of the 
French, or travel fifty versts a day, —all laughed and gave it 
to Tikhon to do. 

“ What harm will it do him, the devil? He’s tough as a 
horse!” they would say of him. : 

One time a Frenchman, whom Tikhon had taken prisoner, 
fired his pistol at him, and wounded him in the seat. This 
wound, which Tikhon treated with nothing but vodka, taken 
internally and externally, was the object of the merriest jokes 
in the whole division, and Tikhon put up with them with a 
very good grace. } 

«Well, brother, how’s it coming on? Does it double you 
up?” the Cossacks would ask mockingly ; and Tikhon, en- 
tering into the fun of the thing, would make up a face, and, 
pretending to be angry with the French, he would abuse the 
French with the most absurd objurgations. The only impres- 
sion that the affair made on Tikhon was that, after his wound, 
he was chary of bringing in prisoners. 

Tikhon was the most useful and the bravest man in the 
band. No one was quicker than he was in discovering the 
chances of a raid; no one had conquered and killed more of 
the French; and, in consequence of this, he was the buffoor 
of the whole band, and he willingly accommodated himsel: 
to this standing. 

Tikhon had now been sent by Denisof that very evening t¢ 
Shamshevo to capture “a tongue.” But either because he 
had not been satisfied with one single Frenchman, or becausé 
he had slept that night, during daylight he had crept among 
the bushes in the very midst of the French, and, as Deniso 
had seen from the brow of the ravine, had been discovered by 
them. 












CHAPTER VI. 


Arrer talking with the esaul for some little time longe 
about the morrow’s raid, which Denisof, it seemed, having g¢ 
a view of the French near at hand, was fully disposed 
make, he turned his horse and rode back. . 

“ Well, bwother, now we’ll go and dwy ourselves,” said h 
to Petya. 


WAR AND PEACE. 143 


As they approached the forest watch-house, Denisof reined 
n, and gazed into the woods. Along the forest, between the 
ees, came, at a great swinging gait, a long-legged, long- 
irmed man, in a kurta, or roundabout, bast boots, a Kazan 
ap, with a musket over his shoulder, and a hatchet in his 
delt. On catching sight of Denisof, this man hastily threw 
something into the thicket, and, removing his wet cap, with 
ts pendent brim, he approached his leader. 

_ This was Tikhon. 
_ His face, pitted with smallpox, and covered with wrinkles, 
ind his little, narrow eyes, fairly beamed with self-satisfied 
ollity. He lifted his head high, and, as. though trying to 
‘efrain from laughing, looked at Denisof. 

_ “Where have you been all this time ? ” asked Denisof. 

“Where have I been? I went after the French,” replied 
Cikhon, boldly and hastily, in a hoarse but melodious bass. 
“Why did you keep out of sight allday ? Donkey! Well, 
why didn’t you bring him ?” 
| “T brought what I brought,” said Tikhon. 

_ “ Where is he ?” 

“Well, I got him, in the first place, before sunrise,” pur- 
ued Tikhon, setting his legs, high-wrapped in lapti, wide 
part. “And I lugged him into the woods. But I see he’s 
io good. I thinks to myself, ‘Vl try it again; Ill have better 
uck with another.’ ” 

“Oh, you wascal!— what a man he is!” exclaimed Den- 
sof, turning to the esaul. “ Why didn’t you bwing him ? ” 

“Yes, why didn’t I bring him!” exclaimed Tikhon angrily. 

—“No good! Don’t I know what kind you want ?” 
| “What a beast !— Well?” 
_ “JT went after another one,” resumed Tikhon. “TI crept this 
vay into the woods, lying flat !’*—'Tikhon here unexpectedly 
ind abruptly threw himself on his belly, watching their faces 
vhile he did so. ‘Suddenly one shows up,” he went on to 
ay; “I collar him—this way.” Tuikhon swiftly, lithely 
eaped to his feet. ‘‘Come along,’ says I to the colonel. 
‘Nhat a racket he made! And there were four of ’em! They 
prang on me with their little swords. And I at ’em in this 
vay with my hatchet: ‘What’s the matter with you! Christ 
Ye with you!’ says I,” cried Tikhon, waving his arms and put- 
ing on a frightful scowl, swelling his chest. 

“Yes, we just saw from the hill what a tussle you had with 
am, and how you went through the swamp!” exclaimed the 
saul, squinting up his glistening eyes. 





144 WAR AND PEACE. 


Petya felt a strong inclination to laugh, but he saw that all 
the others kept perfectly sober. He swiftly ran his eyes from 
Tikhon’s face to the esaul’s and Denisof’s, not understanding 
what this all meant. | 

“Cease playing the fool!” cried Denisof, angrily coughing. 
“Why didn’t you bwing in the first one ? ” 

Tikhon began to scratch his back with one hand and his 
head with the other, and suddenly his whole mouth parted in 
a radiant, stupid smile, which exposed the lack of a tooth 
(that was what had given him the name of Shcherbatui, the 
gap-toothed). Denisof smiled, and Petya indulged in a hearty 
laugh in which Tikhon himself joined. 

“Oh, well, he was entirely no good!” said Tikhon. “His 
clothes were wretched, else ’d have brought him. And 
besides he was surly, your nobility. Says he, ‘I am an ana- 
ral’s son myself,’ says he, ‘and I won’t come,’ says he.” 

“What a brute!” exclaimed Denisof. “I wanted to ques- 
tion him” — 

“Well, I questioned him,” said Tikhon. “‘I don’t know 
much,’ says he. ‘A poor crowd. A good many of us,’ says 
he, ‘but a poor lot. Only,’ says he, ‘they are all the same 
kind. Groan a little louder,’ says he, ‘you'll get ’em all,’” 
said Tikhon in conclusion, looking gayly and resolutely into 
Denisof’s eyes. . 

“T’ll have you thrashed with a hot hundred, and then yowJ) 
perhaps cease playing the fool,” said Denisof severely. 

“What’s there to get mad about?” asked Tikhon. “Be- 
cause I didn’t see your Frenchman. Wait till after it’s dark, 
and then, if you want some, I'll bring in three of em.” 

“Well, come on,” said Denisof; and he rode away angrily 
scowling, and uttered not a word until he reached the watch- 
house. 

Tikhon followed, and Petya heard the Cossacks laughing 
with him and at him about the pair of boots that he had flung 
into the bushes. When he had recovered from the fit of 
laughing that overmastered him on account of Tikhon’s words” 
and queer smile, and he understood in a flash that Tikhon had 
killed that man, Petya felt uncomfortable. 

He glanced at the little drummer, and something wrung his 
very heart. But this sense of awkwardness lasted only for 4 
second. He felt that he must lift his head again, pluck up 
his courage, and asked the esaul with an air of great impor- 
tance in regard to the morrow’s enterprise, so as to be worthy 
of the company in which he found himself. 


WAR AND PEACE. 145 


The officer who had been sent to find Dolokhof met Denisof 
m the road with the report that Dolokhof would be there 
mmediately, and that, as far as he was concerned, he was 
reeable. Denisof suddenly recovered his spirits, and beck- 
med Petya to himself. 7 

“Now, tell me all about yourself,” said he. 


CHAPTER VII. 


PetyA, on leaving Moscow and saying farewell to his parents, 
aad joined his regiment, and soon after had been appointed 
orderly to a general who had a large detachment under his 
sommand. 

Since the time of his promotion to be an officer, and espe- 
tially his transfer into the active army, with which he had 
aken part in the battle at Viazma, Petya had been in a 
shronic state of excitement and delight, because he was now 
“erown up,” and in a chronic state of enthusiastic eagerness 
aot to miss the slightest chance where heroism was to be dis- 
olayed. 

He was much delighted with what he saw and experienced 
n the army, but, at the same time, it seemed to him that all 
jhe chances of heroism were displayed not where he was, but 
where he was not. And he was crazy to be on the move all 
she time. 

When, on November second, his general had expressed the 
lesire to send some one to Denisof’s division, Petya pleaded 
30 earnestly to be sent, that the general found it not in his 
heart to refuse. But, as he let him go, the general remem- 
vered Petya’s reckless escapade in the battle of Viazma, when, 
nstead of taking the road that had been recommended to him, 
ae galloped off in front of the lines and under the French fire, 
shooting his pistol twice as he rode, and so now the general, in 
etting him go, expressly forbade Petya to take part in any of 
Denisof’s enterprises whatever. 

_ That was the reason that Petya had flushed and become 
sonfused when Denisof asked him whether he could stay with 
im. 
Until he reached the edge of the forest, Petya had promised 
Aimself that he should immediately return, strictly fulfilling 
is duty as he should do. But when he saw the French, when 
ae saw Tikhon, and learned that during the night there would 
‘nfallibly be a raid upon them, he, with the swift transition of 
: VOL. 4. — 10. 


; 





146 WAR AND PEACE. 


youth from one view to another, decided in his own mind that, 
his general, whom till then he had highly respected, was a 
rubbishy German, that Denisof was a hero, and that the esaul 
was a hero, and that Tikhon was a hero, and that it would 
be shameful of him to desert them at such a critical moment. 

It was twilight by the time that Denisof with Petya and the 
esaul reached the watch-house. Through the twilight could 
be seen saddled horses, Cossacks, hussars, shelter huts set up on. 
the clearing, and the scattered glow of fires built in the forest 
ravine, so that the smoke might not betray them to the French. 

In the entry of the little hovel, a Cossack with sleeves rolled 
up was cutting up mutton. In the izba itself were three offi- 
cers of Denisof’s band constructing a table out of a board. 
Petya pulled off his wet clothing, giving it to be dried, and 
immediately offered his services in helping to set the dinner 
table. 

Within ten minutes the table was ready, and spread with a 
cloth and loaded with vodka, a bottle of rum, white bread, and 
roasted mutton and salt. 

Sitting down with the officers at the table, tearing the fat, 
fragrant mutton with hands from which dripped the tallow, 
Petya found himself in an enthusiastic, childlike state of affee- 
tionate love to all men, and consequently of belief that all 
men felt the same love toward him. 

“Say, what do you think, Vasili Feodorovitch,” he asked, 
turning to Denisof, “should I get into trouble if I staid with 
you for a single little day?” And, without waiting for an 
answer, he went on answering himself, “For you see I was 
ordered to find out, and I shall find out. — Only you must let 
me join the most—the chief —I don’t want any reward — But 
I want”— Petya set his teeth together, and, lifting his head 
erect, glanced around and waved his hand. 

“The most chief?” — repeated Denisof, smiling. 

“Only please let me have a company; let me command it 
myself,” pursued Petya. “ Now, what difference will it make 
to you?— Akh! would you like a knife?” he asked, turn- 
ing to an officer who was trying to dissect a slice of mutton. 

And he handed him his case knife. 

- The officer praised the knife. 

“ Pray keep it. I have several like it” — said Petya, blush- 
ing. “Ye saints! I forgot all about it,” he suddenly criet. 
“T have some splendid raisins; quite without seeds, you 
know. We had a new sutler, and he brought some magnift 
cent things. I bought ten pounds. I like something sweet. 


WAR AND PEACE. 147 


Would you like them” —? And Petya ran into the entry to 
where his Cossack was, and brought back a basket containing 
five pounds of raisins. —“Take them, gentlemen, take them. — 
I wonder if you want a coffee pot?” he asked, addressing the 
esaul. “I bought a splendid one of our sutler. He had mag- 
nificent things. And he was very honest. That is the main 
thing. I will send it to you without fail. And perhaps you 
are out of flints? Do youneedsome? I’ve got some here” — 
he pointed to his basket —“A hundred flints. I bought them 
very cheap. Take them, I beg of you, as many as you need, 
take them all” — 

And, suddenly frightened lest he was talking too much, 

Petya stopped short and colored. 
He began to recall whether he had said anything silly, and, 
while passing the events of the day in review, his mind recurred 
to the little French drummer. “We are very comfortable here, 
but how is it with him? What have they done with him ? 
Have they given him anything to eat? I hope they haven’t 
been abusing him,” he wondered; but, recognizing that he had 
gone too far in his offer with the flints, he was now afraid. 

“Might I ask?” he queried. ‘“ Won’t they say, ‘He’s a boy 
himself, and of course he pities another boy’? But I’ll show 
them to-morrow what kind of a boy I am. Ought I to be 
ashamed to ask?” queried Petya. “ Well, then, what differ- 
ence does it make?” and on the spur of the moment, flushing 
and giving a timid look at the officers to see whether they 
would laugh at him, he said, — 

“May I call in that lad whom you took prisoner, and give 
him something to eat ?— May 1?” 

_ “Yes, poor little fellow!” replied Denisof, evidently seeing 
nothing to be ashamed of in thus speaking of him. “Call him 
in. His name is Vincent Bosse. Call him.” ; 

“Tl call him,” cried Petya. 

“Call him, call him, poor little fellow !” said Denisof. 

_ Petya was already at the door when Denisof said this. Petya 
made his way among the officers, and swiftly returned to 
Denisof. 

“Tet me kiss you, dear,” * said he. “Akh! how splendid of 
you! Howkind!” And, after giving Denisof a hearty kiss, 
he ran out of doors. 

“Bosse! Vincent!” called Petya, standing at the door. 

_ “Whom do you want, sir?” asked a voice from the dark- 
ness. Petya explained that it was the French lad whom they 


/had taken that day. 
* Golubchik. 





148 WAR AND PEACE. 


“Oh! Vesénnui?” inquired the Cossack. The lad’s name, 
Vincent, had been already changed by the Cossacks into Ves: 
énnui,* by the soldiers and muzhiks into Visenya. In each 
of these variations the reference to Spring seemed to have a 
special appropriateness to the young lad. 

“‘He’s there by the fire, warming himself. Hey, Visenya! 
Visenya! Vesénnui!” sounded the voices, passing the call 
on, mingled with laughter. 

“Oh, he’s a likely lad,” said a hussar standing near Petya. 
‘We fed him anon. He was half starved.” 

Steps were heard in the darkness, and the drummer boy, 

with his bare feet slopping through the mud, came up to the 
door. 
“ Ah, cest vous,” said Petya. Voulez-vous manger? N’avez 
pas peur! Onne vous fera pas de mal. — Don’t you want some- 
thing to eat? Don’t be afraid; they won’t hurt you,” he 
added, timidly and cordially, laying his hand on his arm. 
“ Entrez, entrez.” 

“ Merci, monsieur!” replied the drummer in a trembling 
voice, almost like that of a child, and he proceeded to wipe his 
muddy feet on the threshold. 

-Petya felt like saying many things to the drummer, but he 
dared not. Passing beyond him, he stood next him in the ~ 
entry. Then in the darkness he seized his hand and pressed — 
it. ‘ Entrez, entrez,”’ he repeated in an encouraging whisper. — 

“ Akh! what can I do for him, I wonder?” Petya asked | 
himself, and, opening the door, he let the lad pass in front of © 
him into the room. | 

After the drummer entered the izba Petya sat down at some 
distance from him, considering it undignified to pay him too 
much attention. He merely fumbled the money in his pocket, 
and was in doubt whether it would not be shameful to give it 
to the drummer boy. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


From the drummer, who, by Denisof’s direction, was served 
with vodka and mutton, and dressed in a Russian kaftan, so 
that he might remain in his band, and not be sent off with the 
other prisoners, Petya’s attention was diverted by Dolokhof’s 
arrival. He had heard much in the army about Dolokhof’s 
phenomenal gallantry and cruelty to the French, and there 


* The adjective from Viesnd, Spring. 





WAR AND PEACE. 149 


fore, from the moment that Dolokhof came in, Petya gazed at 
him without taking his eyes from him, and held his head high, 
so as to be worthy even of such society as Dolokhof. 

Dolokhof’s outward appearance struck Petya strangely, from 
its studied simplicity. | 
_ While Denisof was dressed in a chekmén or Cossack kaftan, 
wore a beard, and on his chest a picture of St. Nicholas the 
Miracle-worker — Nikola Chudotvorets — and in his manner 
‘of speech, in all his ways, manifested the peculiarity of his 
position, Dolokhof, on the contrary, who had before worn a 
Persian costume in Moscow, now had the air of a most con- 
ceited officer of the Guards. 

' His face was smooth-shaven, he wore the wadded uniform 
coat of the Guards, with the “George ” in the button-hole, and 
his forage cap set straight. He removed his wet burka in the 
corner, and, going directly up to Denisof, without exchanging 
greetings with any one, immediately proceeded to inquire 
about the business in hand. 

_ Denisof told him about the projects which the large detach- 
ment of troops had formed of attacking their transport-frain, 
and about the message which Petya had brought, and how he 
had replied to the two generals. 

Then Denisof related all that he knew about the position of 
the French escort. 

“So far, so good; but we must know what sort of troops, 
and how many they are,” said Dolokhof. “We must enter 
their lines. If we don’t know exactly how many of them there 
are, it’s no use to attempt the thing. I like to do such busi- 
ness in good style. Here, I wonder if any of these gentlemen. 
will go with ine into their camp. I have an extra uniform 
“with me.” 

«T —J—J will go with you!” cried Petya. 

“You are precisely the one who shall not go,” said Denisof, 
turning to Dolokhof. “I would not let him go on any ac- 
count.” 

“That’s a great note!” cried Petya. “Why can’t I go?” 

_ “Why, because there’s no reason why you should.” 

_ “Well, now, you will excuse me because — because —but I 
will go; that’s all there is of it!—You will take me, won’t 
you ?” he asked, turning to Dolokhof. 

“Why not?” replied Dolokhof, absent-mindedly, staring 
Into the face of the French drummer. 

“Have you had this young lad long?” he asked of Denisof. 

“Took him to-day, but he knows nothing; I kept him with 
‘Jne,” , 


pl 


R 





150 WAR AND PEACE. 


« Well, now, what do you do with the others ?” demanded 


Delokhof. 
“What should Ido? I send them in and get a receipt,” 
replied Denisof, suddenly reddening. “And ll tell you 


fwankly, that I have not a single man on my conscience, — 
What’s the twouble in sending thirty or thwee hundwed > 


under escort to the city ? I tell you honestly it’s better than to 
stain the honor of a soldier.” 


“Let this sixteen-year-old countlet have all these fine 
notions,” said Dolokhof, with icy ridicule, “but it’s time you » 


gave them up.” 

“ Well, I say nothing of the sort, I only say that I am cer. 
tainly going with you,” timidly interrupted Petya. 

“Yes, it’s high time you and I, brother, gave up these fine 
notions,” insisted Dolokhof, as though he found especial 
delight in dwelling on this point which was annoying to 
Denisof. “ Now, for instance, why did you keep this one ?” 
he asked, shaking his head. “Why, it was because you pitied 
him, wasn’t it? We know well enough what your receipts 
amount to! You will send a hundred men, and thirty ’ll get 
there! They’ll die of starvation or be killed. So why isn’t 
it just as well not to take any ?” 

The esaul, snapping his bright eyes, nodded his head in 
approval. 

“Tt’s all wight; no need of weasoning about it here. I don’t 

eare to take the wesponsibility on my soul. You say they die 
on the woad. Well and good. Only ’tisn’t I who murder 
em.” : 
Dolokhof laughed. “Haven’t they been told twenty times 
to take me? And if they should—or you, either, with all 
your chivalry, it would be an even game—a rope and the 
aspen-tree!” He paused. “ However, we must to work, 
' Have my man bring in my pack. I have two French uni 
forms. So you are going with me, are you?” he asked of 
Petya. 

“T? I?.—yes, certainly !” cried Petya, reddening till the 
tears came, and glancing at Denisof. 

Again at the time while Dolokhof was discussing with 
Denisof as to what should be done with the prisoners, Petya 


had that former sense of awkwardness and precipitancy; but,’ 


again, he did not succeed very well in comprehending what 
they said. “If grown-up, famous men have such ideas, of 
course it must be so, it must be all right,” he said to himself. 
“But the main thing is that Denisof must not think that I am 





WAR AND PEACE. 151 


‘going to listen to him, that he can give orders to me! Cer- 
tainly I’m going to the French camp. If he can, of course I 
ean.” ‘To all Denisof’s urgencies not to go, Petya replied that 

he was accustomed to do things properly — akkurdtno —and 

not at hap-hazard, and he never thought about personal danger. 

“ Because — you yourself must acknowledge this—if we 
don’t know pretty well how many they are, the lives of hun- 
dreds of us may depend upon it, while here we are alone — 
and, besides, I am very anxious to do this, and I am certainly, 
certainly going, and you must not try to keep me from it,” 
said he; “that would only make it the worse.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


Havine put on the French uniforms and shakos, Petya and 
Dolokhof rode to the vista from which Denisof had recon- 
noitred the camp, and, emerging from the forest in absolute 
darkness, they made their way down into the ravine. On 
reaching the bottom, Dolokhof ordered the Cossack who ac- 
companied them to wait for them there, and started off ata 
round trot along the road to the bridge; Petya, his heart in his 
mouth with excitement, rode by his side. 

“Tf we fall into their clutches, I won’t give myself up 
alive; I have a pistol,” whispered Petya. 

_“ Don’t speak in Russian!” exclaimed Dolokhof, in a quick 
whisper, and, at that instant, they heard in the darkness the 
challenge “ Qui vive?” and the click of the musket. 

The blood rushed into Petya’s face, and he grasped his pistol. 

“ Lanciers de 6me,” cried Dolokhof, neither hastening nor 
‘thecking his horse’s pace. 

The dark figure of the sentinel stood out upon the bridge. 
ae Mot d’ordre!”- : 

Dolokhof reined in his horse, and rode at a foot pace. 

“Tell me is Colonel Gérard here ?”’ he demanded. 

«The countersign,” insisted the sentinel, not answering the 
Juestion, and blocking the way. | 

' “When an officer is making his round, the sentinels do not 
isk the countersign,” cried Dolokhof, suddenly losing his 
Jemper, and spurring his horse against the sentinel. “I ask 
you if the colonel is here ? ” * 










* “* Mot d’ordre !” —“ Dites donc, le Colonel Gérard est ici? ” — “ Mot 
\Vordre !” — Quand _un officier fait sa ronde, les sentinelles ne demandent 
ras le mot dordre—Je vous demande si le colonel est ici.” 


152 WAR AND PEACE. 


And, without waiting for an answer from the sentinel, whom 
he shouldered out of the way, Dolokhof rode up the slope at a 
foot pace. | 

Perceiving. the dark figure of a man crossing the road, 
Dolokhof halted him, and asked where the commander and 
the officers were. This man, who had a basket on his shoulder, 
paused, came close up to Dolokhof’s horse, laid his arm on her, | 
and told, in simple, friendly way, that the commander and the | 
officers were higher up on the hill, at the right-hand side, at 
the “farm,” as he called the establishment of the owner of the | 
estate. 

After riding along the road, on both sides of which were the 
bivouac fires, where they could hear the sounds of men talk-— 
ing French, Dolokhof turned into the yard of the manorial 
mansion. On riding into the gates, he slid off his horse, and 
went up to a great blazing camp-fire around which sat a num- 
ber of men talking loudly. In a kettle at the edge of it, 
something was cooking, and a soldier in a cap and blue capote 
was on his knees in front of it, his face brightly lighted by 
the flames, and was stirring it with his ramrod. ‘Oh, cest un 
dur @ cuire — He’s a tough one at cooking!” cried one of the 
officers, who were sitting in the shadow in the opposite side. 

“Tl fera marcher les lapins — He'll make the rabbits fly,” 
said another, with a laugh. Both relapsed into silence, and 
looked out into the darkness at the sounds of Dolokhot and 
Petya’s footsteps, who came up to the fire, leading their horses. 

“ Bonjour, messiewrs,’ cried Dolokhof, in a loud tone, 
saluting the officers politely. The officers made a little stir 
in the shadow by the watch-fire, and a tall man with a long 
neck, coming around the fire, approached Dolokhof. 

“ (est vous, Clément?” he began. “ Dou diable — where the 
deuce?” but he did not finish his question, recognizing his 
mistake, and, slightly frowning, he exchanged greetings with 
Dolokhof, as with a stranger, asking him in what way he 
might serve him. Dolokhof told him that he and his comrade 
were in search of their regiment, and, addressing the officers 
in general, he asked them if they knew anything about the 
sixth regiment. 

~ No one knew anything about it, and it seemed to Petya 
that the officers began to look suspiciously and with animosity 
at him and Dolokhof. For several seconds all were silent. 

“ Si vous comptez sur la soupe du soir, vous venex trop tard —- 

You are too late if you expect soup this evening,” said a voice 
with a suppressed laugh from behind the fire. 





WAR AND PEACE. 153 


Dolokhof explained that they were not hungry, and that 
they had to go still farther that night. He handed over his 
horse to the soldier who had been busy over the stew, and 
squatted down on his heels by the fire, next the long-necked 
officer. ‘This officer stared at Dolokhof, without taking his 

‘eyes from him, and asked him for a second time what 
regiment he belonged to ? 

Dolokhof made no reply, affecting not to hear his question ; 
and, as he puffed at the short French pipe which he got out of 
his pocket, he inquired of the officers how far the road in 
front of them was free from danger of the Cossacks. 

“Les brigands sont partout —everywhere!” replied an offi- 
cer from the other side of the camp-fire. 

Dolokhof remarked that the Cossacks were dangerous only 
for those who were alone, as he and his companion were, but 
that certainly they would not venture to attack a large de- 

‘tachment — “Would they?” he added dubiously. 

All the time Petya, who was standing in front of the fire 
and listening to the conversation, kept saying to himself, 
* Now surely he will start.” 

But Dolokhof once more took up the thread of the conver- 
sation which had been dropped, and began to ask them up 
-and down how many men there were in their battalion, how 
Inany battalions, how many prisoners? And while asking 

his questions about the Russian prisoners whom they had in 
their escort, Dolokhof said, “‘ Wretched business to drag these 

corpses around with us. We’d much better shoot this trash,” * 
-and he laughed aloud with such a strange laugh that it seemed 
‘to Petya as if the French would then and there discover the 
: imposition, and he involuntarily took a step from the fire. 

No one responded to Dolokhof’s remark or his laugh, and a 
French officer who till then had not showed himself (he had 
| been lying down wrapped up in his capote) raised himself up 
| and whispered something to his comrade. Dolokhof got up 

and beckoned to the soldier who held his horse. 

“ Will they let us have the horses or not ? ” wondered Petya, 
‘involuntarily moving nearer to Dolokhof. 

_ The horses were brought. 
: “Bonjour, messieurs,” said Dolokhof. 

Petya wanted to say “Bonjour” as well, but he could not 
pronounce a word. The officers said something among them- 
selves in a whisper. Dolokhof sat for some time on his horse, 








| * “La vilaine affaire de trainer ces cadavres apres soi, Vaudrait mieux 
Fusiller cette canaille.”’ 


154 WAR AND PEACE. 


which was restive; then he rode out of the gates at a foot 
pace. Petya rode after him, wishing, but not daring, to 
glance around to see if the French were following him or not. 

On striking the road, Dolokhof did not ride back into the 
fields, but along the village street. In one place he stopped 
and listened. - 

‘Hark !” said he. 

Petya recognized the sound of Russian voices, and saw by 
the watch-fires the shadowy forms of the Russian prisoners. 
On reaching the bridge again, Petya and Dolokhof rode past 
the sentinel, who, not saying a word, was moodily pacing back 
and forth across the bridge; and then they plunged into the 
ravine, where their Cossacks were waiting for them. 

“Well, good-by for now. Tell Denisof at daybreak, at the 
sound of the first shot,” said Dolokhof, and he started to ride 
away; but Petya seized him by the arm. 

“Oh,” he cried, “ youare sucha hero. Akh! how splendid! 
how glorious! How I lke you!” 

«All right, all right!” said Dolokhof, but Petya did not 
let go of him, and in the darkness Dolokhof could just make 
out that Petya was leaning over toward him. He wanted to 
kiss him. Dolokhof kissed him laughingly, and, turning his 
horse, disappeared in the darkness. 


CHAPTER X. 


On returning to the forest hut, Petya found Denisof in the 
entry. He had been waiting for him, full of excitement, 
uneasiness, and self-reproach that he had let him go. 

“Thank God—Slava Bohu!” he eried. “Now, then, 
thank God!” he repeated, on hearing Petya’s enthusiastic 
story. “The devil take you. I haven’t had a wink of sleep 
on account of you,” exclaimed Denisof. ‘Well, thank God. 
Now go and get some sleep. We'll have time for a nap 
before morning.” 

“Yes, — but no,” said Petya, “I don’t want to go to sleep. 
I know myself too well. If I once get to sleep that’s the end 
~ of it. And besides, I’m not in the habit of sleeping before a 
battle.” 

Petya sat some time in the izba, gleefully recalling the 
details of his visit, and vividly picturing what would happep 
on the morrow. Then observing that Denisof had fallen 
asleep, he got up and went out of doors. 





WAR AND PEACE. 155 


It was still perfectly dark. It had ceased raining, but the 
drops were still falling from the trees. Near the hut could 
be seen the dark forms of the Cossack shelters and their 
horses picketed together. Behind the hut the dark forms of 
the two wagons were visible, and next them the horses, and in 
the gully the dying fire was still glowing red. Not all the 
Cossacks and hussars were asleep; occasionally could be 
heard, together with the sound of the pattering drops, and the 
horses champing their teeth, low voices, which seemed to be 
whispering together. . 

Petya stepped out of the entry, glanced around in the dark- 
ness, and approached the wagons. Some one was snoring 
under the wagons, and near them stood the horses saddled 
and eating oats. 

_ Petya in the darkness recognized his horse, which he called 
Karabakh though it was a Little Russian horse, and he went 
to him. 

“ Well, Karabakh, to-morrow we shall see service,” said he, 
putting his face to the horse’s nose, and kissing it. 

“What! barin, aren’t you asleep?” asked the Cossack sit- 
ting under the wagon. 

_ “No, I—your name’s Likhatchef, * isn’t it? You see I’ve 
just come back. We’ve been to visit the French.” 

And Petya gave the Cossack a detailed account, not only of 
his expedition, but also why he had taken it, and why he con- 
‘sidered it much better to risk his own life than to work at 
hap-hazard. 

“ Well, you’d better get some sleep,” said the Cossack. 

_ “No, I’m used to it,” replied Petya. “I wonder if you are 
‘out of flints for your pistol. I brought some with me. 
‘Wouldn’t you like some? Take them!” 
| The Cossack put his head out from under the wagon to get 
-acloser look at Petya. 
. Because I’m used to doing everything carefully — akku- 
eno ” ___ said Petya, ‘Some never think of making ready 
beforehand, and they are sorry for it afterwards. I don’t like 
‘that way.” 
“‘That’s a fact,” said the Cossack. 
“T wonder if you’d be kind enough to sharpen my sabre. 
It got dull” — (but Petya could not tell a lie) “it’s never been 
‘sharpened. Can’t you do it for me?” 
, “Why, of course I can.” 
Likhatchef got up, fumbled in his pack, and soon Petya 


* From Likhatch, a good driver of horses. Greek, hippokrates. 





156 WAR AND PEACE. 


heard the warlike sound of the steel on the stone. He 
climbed upon the wagon and perched on the edge. The Cos- 
sack was sharpening the sabre under the wagon. 

“Well, are the boys asleep ?”’ asked Petya. 

“Some of ’em are asleep, some ain’t.” 

“Well, how about the lad ?” 

“Who? Vesénnul? He’s crawled into the hay yonder 
Asleep out of sheer fright. I was glad of it.” 

For a long time after that, Petya said nothing, but listened 
to the various sounds. Steps were heard approaching in the 
darkness, and a dark form appeared. 

“What are you whetting?” asked a man, coming, up to thé 
wagon. 

“ Whetting this barin’s sabre.” 

'« Good thing,” said the man, whom Petya took to be a hus- 
sar. “IJ wonder if a cup was left over here with you ?” 

“There it is by the wheel.” 

The hussar took the cup. ‘ 

“Tt’ll be daylight soon,” he added, yawning, and went off. 

Petya might have been supposed to know that he was in 
the woods with Denisof’s party, a verst from the highway, 
that he was perched on the wagon taken from the French, 
while around the horses were tethered, and under it sat the 
Cossack Likhatchef sharpening his sabre, —that the great 
black spot at the right was the guard-house, and the bright: 
red spot below at the left was the dying watch-fire, that the 
man who came after the cup was a hussar, who wanted a 
drink ; but he did not realize this, and had no desire to real. 
ize it. 

He was in a magic realm, in which nothing resembled the 
reality. 

The great black spot, perhaps, was simply the guard-house, 
but perhaps it was a cavern leading down into the depths of 
the earth. , 

The red spot, perhaps, was a fire, but perhaps it was the eye 
of a huge monster. 

Perhaps he was really perched on the wagon, but very pos- 
sibly he was sitting not on the wagon, but on a terribly high 
turret, from which, if he fell, it would take him a whole day, 
a whole month, to reach the earth —he might fall forever, 
and never reach it! . 

Perhaps it was merely the Cossack Likhatchef sitting 
under the wagon, but very possibly it was the best, kindest, 
bravest, mosé glorious, most admirable man in the world, and 
no one knew it! 





WAR AND PEACE. 157 


Perhaps it was merely a hussar who came after water, and 
‘went down the ravine; but perhaps he had disappeared from 
sight, and vanished absolutely into nothingness. 

Nothing that Petya might have seen at that moment would 

have surprised him. He was in a magic realm, in which 
-everything was possible. 

‘He glanced at the sky. And the sky was as magical a 
thing as the earth. The sky had begun to clear, and over the 
tree-tops swiftly scurried the clouds, as it were unveiling the 
‘stars. Sometimes it seemed as though the sky were clearing, 
‘and the black depths of clear sky were coming into sight. 
{Sometimes it seemed as if those black spots were clouds. 

‘Sometimes it seemed as if the sky were lifted high, high above 
his head; sometimes the sky stooped down absclutely so that 
‘his hand could touch it. 
| Petya’s eyes began to close, and he swayed a little. 
_Rain-drops dropped.* Men were talking in low tones. 
‘The horses neighed and shook themselves. Some one snored. 

Ozhik, zhik, “orhik, zhik —sounded the sabre on the whet- 
‘stone ; and suddenly Petya heard a harmonious orchestra 
playing a solemnly exquisite hymn, which he had never heard 
‘before. 

Petya had a gift for music, just as Natasha had, and greater 
‘than Nikolai’s, but he had never taken music lessons. His 
“mind was not occupied with music, and consequently the 
‘themes that entered his: mind were to him absolutely new and 
fascinating. 

. The orchestra played louder and louder. The air was 
‘resolved, transferred from one instrument to another. The 

‘result was what is called a fugue, although Petya had not the 

shghtest idea what a fugue was. Each instrument, the one 

corresponding to the violin, and the one corresponding to the 

‘horn, — only better and purer than violin or horn, — each 
instrument played its own part, and before it had played to 
‘the end of the motif, blended with another, which began 

almost the same way, and then with a third, and with a 
fourth, and then all of them blended in one, and again sepa- 
‘rated, and again blended, now into something solemnly eccle- 
(siastical, now into something brilliant and triumphant. 

_ “Oh, yes, I must be dreaming,” said Petya to himself, as he 
pitched forward. “It was in my ears. But perhaps it is my 
(music! Well, then, once more! Go on, music mine! Now!” 
He closed his eyes. And from different directions, as though 


* Kapli kapaili. 








158 WAR AND PEACE. 


from 1 distance, the sounds came trembling, began to fall into 
rhythmical form, to run into variations, to coalesce, and once 
more they united in the same sweet and solemn ‘triumphal 
hymn. 

“Akh! this is so exquisite. Truly at my beck and call,” 
said Petya to myself. He tried to direct this tremendous 
orchestra of instruments. 

“Now, more softly, more softly ; let it almost die away!” 
And the sounds obeyed him. ‘Now, then, fuller, more gayly. 
Still more, still more jollity !” 

And from the unknown depths arose the triumphant strains 
in vastly fuller volume. 

“ Now, voices, you come in!” commanded Petya. And at 
first far away he heard the voices of men, then of women. 
The voices grew in regular gradations into solemn power. 
Petya felt a mixture of terror and joy in recognizing their 
extraordinary loveliness. 

With the solemn strains of the triumphal march blended 
the song, and the rain-drops dropped, and with its Vzhik, zhik, 
zhik, rang the sabre, and again the horses stirred and neighed, 
_though not disturbing the chorus, but rather blending with it. 

Petya knew not how long this lasted: he enjoyed it, was 
all the time amazed at his enjoyment of it, and regretted that 
there was no one to share 1t with him. 

He was awakened by Likhatchef’s affectionate voice. : 

“Ready, your nobility; you can split two Frenchmen* 
with it.” 

Petya aroused himself. 

“Tt’s getting hght; truly it’s growing light!” he cried. 

The horses, before invisible, could now be plainly seen, 
and through the bare limbs of the forest trees gleamed a 
watery light. 

Petya shook himself, sprang down, got a silver ruble out of 
his pocket, and gave it to Likhatchef, and, after brandishing 
his sword, he examined the blade, and pushed it into the 
sheath. 

The Cossacks were beginning to untie their horses and 
tighten their girths. 

“Here is the commander,” said Likhatchef. 

From the guard-house came Denisof, and, nodding to Petya, 
gave orders to get ready. 


* He calls Frantsus, Khrantsis. 





WAR AND PEACE. 159 


: CHAPTER XI. 


In the half-light of the dawn the horses were speedily brought 
out, saddle-girths were tightened, and the men fell into line. 

Denisof stood by the hut, giving the final directions. The 
infantry detachment, with their hundreds of feet splashing at 
mee, marched ahead along the road, and soon were hidden 
from sight among the trees in the dawn-lighted mist. 

The esaul gave some command to his Cossacks. Petya held 
‘ais horse by the bridle, impatiently awaiting the signal to 
‘mount. His face, which had been laved in cold water, and 
ospecially his eyes, glowed with fire: a cold shiver ran down 
ais back, and his whole body shook with a rapid, nervous 
arembling. 

_ “Well, are you all ready ? ” asked Denisof. “To horse!” 

“m= Lhe horses were brought out. Denisof scolded his Cossack 
decause his saddle-girth was loose, and, after tightening it, he 
nounted. Petya put his foot in the ‘stirrup. His horse, as 
was his wont, tried to bite his leg; but Petya, not conscious of 
weight, quickly sprang into the saddle, and, looking at the 
ong line of hussars stretching away into the darkness, rode 
ap to Denisof. 

“WVasili Feodorovitch, you’ll give me some charge, won’t 
pen? Please — for God’s sake!” said he. Denisof seemed 
0 have forgotten about Petya’s existence. He glanced at him. 
: “T’ll ask you one thing,” said he severely, “to obey me and 





0 mind your own business.” 

During all the march Denisof said not a word further to 
Petya, and rode in silence. 
When they reached the edge of the forest the morning light 
Nieis spreading over the fields. Denisof held a whispered con- 
sultation with the esaul, as the Cossacks rode past Petya and 
‘um. When they had all filed by, Denisof turned his horse 
ind rode down the slope. The horses, sitting back on their 
jaunches, and sliding, let themselves and their riders down 
‘nto the ravine. Petya rode by Denisof’s side. The trembling 
wer his whole frame had greatly increased. 
| It was growing lighter and lighter. Only distant objects 
vere concealed as yet in the fog. On reaching the bottom, 
iso, after glancing back, nodded to a Cossack standing 
ear him. 
' The signal,” he cried, 


: 


160 WAR AND PEACE. 


The Cossack raised his hand. A shot rang out, and at the 
same instant they heard the trampling hoofs of the horses 
simultaneously dashing forward, and yells in different direc- 
tions, and more shots. : 

At the instant that the first sounds of the trampling hoofs 
and the yells broke upon the silence, Petya, giving a cut to 
his horse, and letting him have full rein, galloped forward, 
not heeding Denisof, who called him back. 

It seemed to Petya that at the moment he heard the musket- 
shot it suddenly became perfectly light, like midday. He gal- 
loped upon the bridge. In front of him, along the road, the 
Cossacks were dashing ahead. On the bridge he knocked up 
against a Cossack who had been left behind, but still he gal- 
loped on. In front of him he saw some men —they must be 
the French —running from the right side of the road to the 
left. One fell in the mud under the feet of Petya’s horse. 

Around one izbé a throng of Cossacks were gathered doing 
something. From the midst of the throng arose a terrible 
shriek. Petya galloped up to this throng, and the first thing 
that he saw was a Frenchman’s white face, his lower jaw 
trembling. He was clutching the shaft of a lance directed at 
his breast. : 

“Hurrah! boys. Ours!” yelled Petya, and, giving free rel 
to his excited horse, he flew up the street. : 

In front of him shots were heard. Cossacks, hussars, an¢ 
tattered Russian prisoners, running from both sides of the roacl 
' were incoherently shouting something at the top of their voices 
A rather youthful Frenchman, without his cap, and with a red 
scowling face, in a blue capote, was defending himself witl 
his bayonet from the hussars. 

When Petya reached there he was already fallen. 

“Too late again!” flashed through Petya’s head, and hy 
dashed off where the shots were heard the thickest. This wa 
in the yard of the manor-house, where he had been the nigh 
before with Dolokhof. The French had intrenched themselve 
behind the hedge and in the park, where the bushes had grow 
up dense and wild, and they were firing at the Cossacks cluste1 
ing around the gates. On reaching the gates, Petya, throug: 
the gunpowder smoke, saw Dolokhof, with a pale greenis. 
face, shouting something to his men. 

“At their flank! Infantry, wait!” he was yelling, just a 
Petya rode up. . 

“Wait ? — Hurra-a-a-a-ah!” yelled Petya; and he, withou 
waiting a single instant, rode up into the very place where th 









WAR AND PRACRE. 161 


hots were heard, and where the gunpowder smoke was densest. 
\ volley rang out; the bullets fell thick and fast, and did their 
vork. The Cossacks and Dolokhof followed Petya through 
he gates. The Frenchmen could be seen through the thick, 
allowing smoke, some throwing down their arms and coming 
ut from behind the bushes to meet the Cossacks, others run- 
Ing down the slope to the pond. 

_ Petya still rode his horse at a gallop around the manor-house 
vor, but, instead of guiding him by the bridle, he was waving 
oth his hands in the strangest, wildest manner, and was lean- 
ag more and more to one side of the saddle. His horse, com- 
ag on the camp-fire, which was smouldering in the morning 
ght, stopped short, and Petya fell heavily on the wet ground. 
‘he Cossacks saw his arms and legs twitch, although his head 
vas motionless. A bullet had entered his brain. 

_Dolokhof, after a moment’s conversation with an old French 
fficer, who came out of the house with a handkerchief on his 
word, and explained that they surrendered, dismounted and 
‘ent to Petya, lying there motionless, with outstretched 
rms. 

'“Done up,” he said, scowling ; and he went to the gates to 
teet Denisof, who was coming to meet him. 

, “Killed!” cried Denisof, seeing, while still at a distance, 
‘le unquestionably hopeless position, only too well known to 
im, in which Petya’s body lay. 

_ “Done up,” repeated Dolokhof, as though the repetition of 
us word gave him some satisfaction ; and he hastened to the 
fsoners, around whom the Cossacks were crowding. “We 
‘n’t take him,” he called back to Denisof. 

_Denisof made no reply. He rode up to Petya, dismounted, 
ad with trembling hands turned Petya over, looked at his 
wee, already turned pale, and stained with blood and mud. 
_“T like something sweet. Splendid raisins, take them all,” 
jeurred to him. And the Cossacks, with amazement, looked 
‘ound as they heard the sound, like the barking of a dog, with 
hich Denisof quickly turned away, went to the hedge, and 
utched it. 

Among the Russian prisoners released by Denisof and Dol: 
‘thof was Pierre Bezukhoi 


VOL. 4, a 11, 











162 WAR AND PEACE. 


CHAPTER XII. 


Concerninc the party of prisoners to which Pierre belonged 
at the time of the general exodus from Moscow, the French 
commanders had made no new dispensation. 

On the third of November this party found itself with a dif- 
ferent escort and with a different train of wagons from the one 
with which they had left Moscow. 

One half of the provision train, which had followed them 
during the ‘first stages of the march, had been captured by the 
Cossacks ; the other half had gone on ahead. The cavalrymen 
without horses, who had marched in the van, had every one 
disappeared: not one was left. The artillery, which during 
the first stages had been visible in front of them, was now re- 
placed by Marshal Junot’s huge baggage-wagons, under the 
escort of Westphalians. Behind the prisoners rode a train of 
cavalry appurtenances. 

After leaving Viazma the French troops, which before had 
marched in three columns, now proceeded all in confusion. 
The symptoms of disorder which Pierre had observed in the 
first halting-place out of Moscow had now reached its very 
acme. The road along which they had passed was strewn on 
both sides with dead horses. Ragged men, stragglers from the 
different commands, constantly shifting about, now joined, then 
again fell out of, the moving columns. 

Several times during the march there were false alarms, 
and the soldiers of the convoy raised their muskets, fired 
them, and ran headlong, pushing one another; but then again 
they would form and revile each other for the needless panic. | 

These three divisions which proceeded in company — the 
cavalry stores (dépét), the detachment of the wounded and 
Junot’s baggage — still constituted a separate and complete 
body, but each of them was rapidly melting away. 7 

In the department, to which at first one hundred and twenty) 
teams belonged, now remained no more than sixty; the rest 
were captured or abandoned. A number of wagons of Junot’s 
train had also been left behind and captured. Three teame 
had been rifled by stragglers from Davoust’s corps. 

From the talk of the Germans, Pierre gathered that this 
train was more strongly guarded than that of the prisoners 
and that one of their comrades, a German soldier, had beer 
shot by order of the marshal himself because he had beer 


WAR AND PEACE. 168 


found with a silver spoon belonging to the marshal in his 
possession. 

The number of prisoners had melted away more than any 
i of the three divisions. Out of three hundred and thirty men 
- who left Moscow, now less than one hundred remained. The 
_ prisoners were more of a care to the soldiers of the convoy 
‘than were the saddles of the cavalry stores or than Junot’s 
baggage. 
' The saddles and Junot’s spoons, they understood, might be 
_of some advantage to some one; but for cold and hungry 
soldiers to stand guard and watch over Russians who were 
, likewise cold and hungry, and who died and were abandoned 
! on the way, whom they were commanded to shoot down, this 
_ was not only incomprehensible, but even repulsive. 
__ And the men of the convoy, as though fearful that in the 
-eruel position in which they found themselves they should 
give way to the real feeling of pity which they felt for the 
prisoners, and thus make their own condition harder, treated 
them with peculiar gruffness and severity. 











, 


At Dorogobuzh, while the soldiers of the convoy went off 
to plunder some of their own stores, and locked the prisoners 
in a barn, several of the Russian soldiers dug out under the 
walls and escaped, but they were caught by the French and shot. 

The order which had been observed on the departure from 
Moscow, of keeping the officers from the other prisoners, had 
for some time been disregarded: all those who could march 
went together, and Pierre after the third march was again 
brought into the company of Karatayef and the short-legged 

. pink dog, which had chosen Karatayef as her master. 

_ Karatayef, on the third day out from Moscow, had a relapse 
) Of the same fever from which he had suffered in the Moscow 
hospital, and as he grew worse Pierre avoided him. He knew 
/not why it was, but from the time that Karatayef began to 
_ fail, Pierre found himself obliged to exercise great self-control 
to be near him. And when he approached him, and heard the 
| low groans which he kept up all the time when they were in 
camp, and smelt the odor which now more powerfully than 
| ever exhaled from Karatayef, Pierre avoided him as far as 
+ possible, and kept him out of his mind. 

) While a prisoner in the balagdn, Pierre was made aware, 
| not by his reason, but by his whole being, by life, that man 
| is created for happiness, that happiness is in himself, in the 
|, satisfaction of the simple needs of humanity, and that all 
| unhappiness arises, not from lack, but from superfluity. 


| 






164 WAR AND PEACE. 

But now, during these last three weeks of the march ze 
had learned still another new and consoling truth — he had 
learned that there is nothing terrible in the world. He had 
learned that just as there was no position in the world in which 
a man would be happy and absolutely free, so also there 
was no position in which a man would be unhappy and 
unfree. 

He had learned that suffering has its limits, and that 
freedom has its limits, and that these limits are very near 
together; that the man who suffered because one leaf on his 
bed of roses was crumbled, suffered just as much as he now 
suffered sleeping on the cold, damp ground, one side roasting, 
the other freezing; that when he used to wear his dancing- 
pumps too tight, he suffered just as much as he suffered now 
in going bare-footed, —his shoes were entirely worn out, — 
with his feet covered with sores. : 

He had learned that when he, as it seemed to him by his 

own free will, married his wife, he was not really any more 
free than now, when he was shut up for the night in the 
barn. ; 
Of all that which he afterwards called sufferings, but which 
at the time he scarcely felt, the worst was from his bare, 
bruised, scurvy-scarred feet. (The horse-flesh was palatable 
and nourishing, the saltpetre odor of the gunpowder which | 
they used instead of salt was even pleasant; the weather was 
not very cold; in the daytime while marching it was even 
hot, but at night they had bivouac fires; the vermin which 
fed upon him warmed his body.) The one thing hard at that 
time was the state of his feet. 

On the second day of the retreat, Pierre, examining his sores 
by the fire, felt that it was impossible to take another step on 
them; but when all got up, he went along treading gingerly, 
and afterwards, when he was warmed to it, he walked without 
pain, though when evening came it was more terrible than | 
ever to look at his feet. But he did not look at them, and | 
turned his thoughts to other things. 

Now for the first time Pierre realized all man’s power of 
vitality, and the saving force of abstracting the attention, | 
which, like the safety valve in the. steam-engine, lets off the 
excess of steam as soon as the pressure exceeds the normal. 

He saw not and heard not how the prisoners who straggled 
were shot down, although more than a hundred had perished 
‘in this way. He thought not of Karatayef, who grew weaker 
every day, and was evidently fated to suffer the same lot. 





WAR AND PEACE. 165 . 






Still less Pierre thought of himself. The more trying his 

‘position, the more appalling the future, the more disconnected » 
‘with the position in which he found himself, the more joy- 
ful and consoling were the thoughts, recollections, and visions 
which came to him. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


At noon of the third, Pierre was climbing up a muddy, 
‘slippery hill, looking at his feet and at the inequalities of the 
Toad. | 
Occasionally his eyes glanced at the familiar throng around 
“him, and then back to his feet again. Both the one and the 

other were peculiarly connected with his individual impres- 
sions. 
The pink, bandy-legged Sierui was frolicking by the side of 
‘the road, occasionally lifting up her hind leg, as a sign of her 
agility and jollity, flying along on three legs, and then again 
on all four darting off to bark at the crows, which were feast- 
/ ing on the carrion. Sierul was more frolicksome and in better 
condition than she had been in Moscow. On all sides lay the 
flesh of various animals — men as well as horses — in various 
degrees of putrefaction, and the constant passing of people did 
not permit of the wolves approaching, so that Sierui was able 
to get all that she wanted to eat. 

It had been raining since morning, and if for a moment it 
seemed that it was passing over and “the skies were going to 
clear, instantly after such a short respite the downpour would 
‘be heavier than ever. The road was perfectly soaked and 
‘could not absorb any more water, and little brooks ran along 

the ruts. 

Pierre plodded along, looking at one side, counting his steps 
_ by threes, and doubling down his fingers. Apostrophizing the 
rain, he kept repeating mentally, “ Rain, rain, please not come 
| again.” * 

It seemed to him flat he was not thinking of anything ; but 
| in the depths of his mind, remote, there were grave and com- 
forting thoughts. They were the direct spiritual outcome of 
| his yesterday evening’s conversation with Karatayef. 

| The evening before, while they were halting for the night, 
after half freezing at a fire that had gone out, Pierre got up 
gee went over to a neighboring camp-fire that was burning 


* “Nu ka, nu ka, Peachey yeshchd, nadddi ! yr 





.166 WAR AND PEACE. 


more brightly. Near this fire to which Pierre went, Platon 
was sitting, with his head wrapped up in his cloak as though 
it were a chasuble, and was telling the soldiers, in his fluent, 
agreeable, but weak and ailing voice, a story which Pierre had 
often heard. 

It was already after midnight. This was the time that 
Karatayef usually recovered from his paroxysms of fever, and 
became peculiarly lively. ; 

On approaching the camp-fire and hearing Platon’s weak, 
ailing voice, and seeing his yellow face brightly ighted up by 
the fire-light, Pierre’s heart reproached him. He was alarmed 
by his feeling of pity for the man, and wanted to go away ; but 
there was no other camp-fire, and Pierre sat down by the 
bivouac fire, and tried not to look at Platon. 

“Well, how is your health?” he asked. 

“Health? Even if you weep for illness, God does not send 
death,” said Karatayef, and instantly resumed the story he 
was telling. 

“So, then, my dear brothers,” Platon went on, with a smile 
illumining his thin, pale face, and with a gleam of peculiar 
delight in his eyes, — “so, then, my dear brothers ”? — 

Pierre had heard this story a long time before; Karatayef 
had related it half a dozen times to him alone, and always with 
a peculiar feeling of pleasure. But, well as Pierre knew it, he 
now listened to it as though it were something new, and that 
genial enthusiasm which Karatayef evidently felt in relating 
it communicated itself to Pierre. 

It was the story of an old merchant who lived a moral, God- 
fearing life with his family, and who once set out with a friend 
of his, a rich merchant, on a pilgrimage to the shrine of St. 
Makarii. 

They put up one night at an inn, and the two merchants 
retired to bed; and the next morning, the merchant’s com- 
panion was found robbed and with his throat cut. The bloody 
knife was found under the old merchant’s pillow. The old 
merchant was tried, knouted, and after his nostrils had been 
slit — “as was proper according to the law,” said Karatayef— 
was sent to hard labor. e 

“So, then, my brothers,” —it was at this place that Pierre 
had interrupted Platon’s story, — “ten years or more passed, 
The good old man lives in the mines. He submits as in duty 
bound; never does any one any harm. Only he prays to God 
to let him die. Very good. One time the convicts were gath- 
ered together — it was night — just as if it had been you and I, 


a 


| WAR AND PEACE. 167 
_ and the good old man was with’em. And they were telling each 
other what they had been punished for, and of what they were 
guilty before God. They began to confess, one that he had 
‘mnurdered a man;* another, two; a third that he had set a 
house on fire; another that he had been a deserter, and so on. 
| Then they began to ask the old man: ‘And you, grandsire, 
_ what are you being punished for ?’—‘I, my dear friends,’ f 
| Says he, ‘am punished for my own sins, and for the sins of 
| others. I never killed a soul, I never stole from any one; 
instead, I used to give to any needy brother. I, my dear 
| friends, was a merchant, and I had a large property.’ And so 
| on and so on, he tells the whole story, of course, just as it hap- 
| ae ‘T don’t complain,’ says he. ‘Of course, God did it 
_ to search me. Only,’ says he, ‘I am sorry for my old woman 
and my children.’ And then the old man began to ery. It 
| happened the very man who had murdered the merchant, you 
/ know, was there in that company. ‘Where was it, grand- 
“Sire, it happened? When? What month?’ He asked all 
| about it. His heart stung him. And so he goes up to the old 
| man and falls at his feet. ‘You were punished all on my 
account, you good old man,’ says he. ‘That’s the truth, the 
honest truth. It’s a fact, boys; this man is innocent, and 
| has been punished for my crime,’ says he. ‘I did it myself,’ 
| says he, ‘and I put the knife under your pillow while you was 
asleep. Forgive me, grandsire,’ says he, ‘for Christ’s sake !’” 
'  Karatayef paused, joyously smiling, and as he gazed into the 
| fire he straightened the. logs. 
_ “And the good old man says, ‘God will forgive you, but we 
/are all of us,’ says he, ‘sinners before God. I suffer for your 
; sin.’ He wept bitter tears. And what think you, friends,” § 
exclaimed Karatayef, with a radiant, beatific smile lighting 
his face more and more, as though what he had now to relate 
| included the main charm and all the significance of the story, 
| “what think you, friends! this murderer revealed the whole 
| thing to the authorities. ‘I,’ says he, ‘I have killed six souls’ 
(he was a great villain!), ‘but what I regret more than all is 
/this good old man. Let him not weep any longer on my 
account.’ He explained the whole matter; they took it down, 
‘sent off the paper in proper shape. It’s a long way off, and 
it was a long time before the matter was decided, and before 
‘all the papers were written as they had to be, as it always is 
with the authorities. It reached the tsar. And then came 

































'* Dusha, a soul. t Rebyatushki, little children. 
| t Brdtswi mot milenkiye (brothers mine dear). § Sokglk, a hawk. 


168 WAR AND PEACE. 

















the ukase: ‘Let the merchant go; give him a present, what- 
ever they may decide.’ The document came; they tried to 
find the poor old man. Where is the poor old man who was — 
innocent and suffered so long? A document has come from 
the tsar. They began to search for him.” Karatayef’s lower 
jaw trembled. ‘But God had forgiven him —he was dead. 
That was the way of it, friends,” * concluded Karatayef, and 
for a long time he sat looking into the fire, with a smile on his 
lips. . 

It was not so much this story itself, but its mysterious 
meaning, that solemn joy which irradiated Karatayetf’s face 
as he related it, the mysterious significance of this joy, which 
filled Pierre’s soul with a vague sense of joy. | 


CHAPTER XIV. | 
“ A vos places !” suddenly cried a voice. ; . 
A glad stir and expectation of something good and solemn | 
awoke among the prisoners and convoy. On all sides were | 
heard shouts of command, and at the left suddenly appeared 
handsomely dressed cavalrymen, trotting by the prisoners, on) 
handsome horses. All faces wore that expression of ten 
sion which is usually seen when important personages ‘are 
expected. 1 
‘The prisoners were collected and pushed out of the roads ® 
the soldiers formed in line. | af 
“Tempereur! Vempereur! Le maréchal! Leduc!” and 
as soon as the plump horses of the mounted escort dashed by, 
a coach drawn by six gray steeds thundered past. Pierre, as : 
by a flash, caught sight of the calm, handsome, plump but 
pale face of a man in a ¢ricorne. | my | 
This was one of the marshals. , 
The marshal’s eye rested on Pierre’s rotund, noticeable fig 
ure, and the expression with which the marshal scowled and 
turned away his face made it evident to Pierre that he fel 
sympathy and wanted to hide it. 
The general in charge of the division galloped after the 
carriage, with a red, frightened face, spurring on his lear 
horse. Several officers gathered together; the soldiers” 
pressed around them. All faces wore an expression of excite+ 
ment and tension. 


* There is a variant of this same story, told by Count Tolstoi for children: : 
See “ A Long Exile” (T. Y. Crowell & Co.). . 












WAR AND PEACE. 169 


/ “© Qwest-ce qwil a dit? qwest-ce qwil a dit? —What did he 
(say ?” Pierre heard them asking. 

». While the marshal had been passing, the prisoners had been 
(gathered in a clump, and Pierre noticed Karatayef, whom he 
‘had not seen since early that morning. Karatayef in his 
short cloak was leaning up against a birch-tree. While his 
face still bore that expression of joyful emotion which it had 
had the evening before, when telling the story of the mer- 
‘chant’s unmerited punishment, it was lighted up by an expres- 
‘sion of gentle solemnity. IOS, | 

Karatayef looked at Pierre out of his kindly round eyes, 

which were now full of tears, and he seemed to be calling him 
ito him, as though he wanted to say something. But Pierre 
felt quite too terribly about himself. He affected not to see 
him, and hastened away. 
__ When the prisoners were set on their march again, Pierre 
glanced back. Karatayef was sitting by the edge of the 
road, under the: birch-tree, and two Frenchmen were discuss- 
jing about something over him. Pierre did not look longer. 
'He passed on his way, limping up the hill. 

From the place where Karatayef had been left behind, the 
report of a musket-shot was heard. Pierre distinctly heard 
this report, but at the instant that he heard it he recollected 
that he had not finished his calculation how many stages 
there were to Smolensk, a calculation in which he had been 
interrupted by the arrival of the marshal. And he began to 
sount. 

The two French soldiers, one of whom held the smoking 
‘musket which he had just discharged, ran past Pierre. Both 
of them were pale, and in the expression of their faces — one 
them looked timidly at Pierre — there was something that 
‘reminded him of the young soldier who had been executed. 

Pierre looked at this soldier, and remembered how this 
orivate, a few days before they had started, had burned his 
‘shirt as he was drying himself by the camp-fire, and how 
‘hey had made sport of him. ; 
| The dog staid behind, and was howling around the place 
‘Where Karatayef was. 

“What a fool! what is she barking about?” Pierre 
‘xclaimed inwardly. 
| The soldiers, Pierre’s comrades, walking in file with him, 
ike him did not look back to the place where first the shot 
jmd then the howl of the dog was heard, but a stern ex pres- 
/1on lay on all their faces. 












170 WAR AND PEACE. 


CHAPTER XV. 


Tue provision train and the prisoners and the marshal’s © 


baggage-wagons were halting at Shamshevo. All gathered in — 
groups around the watch-fires. Pierre went to a camp-fire, — 


and, after eating some roasted horse-flesh, lay down with his — 
back to the fire and instantly fell asleep. He slept the same : 


kind of sleep which he had slept at Mozhaisk after Borodino. 


Once more real events mingled with visions, and once more — 


some one, either himself or some other person, uttered 


thoughts, even the same thoughts which had been spoken to — 


him at Mozhaisk. 

“Life is everything. Life is God. Everything changes 
and is in a state of flux, and this movement is God. And as 
long as there is life, there is enjoyment of the self-conscious- 
ness of the Divinity. To love’life is to love God. More dif- 
ficult and more blessed than all else is it to love this life in 
its sufferings, in undeserved sufferings.” 

“ Karatayef!” it occurred to Pierre. 

And suddenly there seemed to be standing before Pierre, as 
though alive, a dear little old man, long forgotten, who im 
Switzerland had taught Pierre geography. 

“Wait,” said the little man. And he showed Pierre a 
globe. This globe was a living, rolling ball, and had no natu- 
ral divisions. The whole surface of the globe consisted of 
drops closely squeezed together. And these drops were all 
in motion, changing about, sometimes several coalescing into 


one, sometimes one breaking up into many. Each drop tried 
to expand, to occupy as much space as possible ; but others, 


striving for the same end, crushed it, sometimes annihilated. 
it, sometimes coalesced with it. 

“ Such is life,” said the little old teacher. 

“How simple and how clear,” thought Pierre. ‘ Why is it 
I never knew this before ?” 

“Tn the centre is God, and each drop strives to spread out, 


expand, so as to reflect him in the largest possible propor 


tions. And each expands, and coalesces, and 1s pressed down, 
and is to all outward appearance annihilated, and sinks into 
the depths and comes out again.” 


“That was the case with Karatayef: he overflowed and 


vanished.” 
« Vous avez compris, mon enfant,” said the teacher, 





: WAR AND PEACE. 171 


“Vous avez compris! Sacré nom! Do you understand ? 
The devil take you!” cried a voice, and Pierre awoke. 

He sat up. Squatting on his heels by the camp-fire sat a 
Frenchman: who had just been pushing away a Russian sol- 
‘dier, and was now broiling a piece of meat stuck on a ram- 
rod. His muscular, red hand, covered with hairs, with short 
‘fingers, was skilfully twirling the ramrod. His cinnamon- 
eolored, scowling face and knitted brows could be clearly seen 
‘in the light of the coals. 

| “Ca lui est bien égal—lIt’s all the same to him,” he 
‘growled out, addressing the soldier standing near him. “ Bri- 
gand! Va!” And the soldier, twirling the ramrod, glared 
igloomily at Pierre. Pierre turned away and gazed into the 
darkness. 

' A Russian soldier, one of the prisoners, the very same 
‘whom the Frenchman had pushed away, was sitting by the 
fire and was patting something with his hand. Looking 
‘closer, Pierre recognized that it was the little bandy-legged 
pink dog, which was wagging her tail as she crouched down 
next the soldier. 

«Ah? She’s come, has she?” said Pierre, “but Plat” — 
he began, but did not finish the name. Suddenly in his 
‘imagination all blended together, —the recollection of the 
look which Platon had given him as he sat under the tree, 
‘the shot which he had heard at that same place, the howling 
of the dog, the guilty faces of the two Frenchmen who 
hastened past him, the empty, smoking musket, Karatayef left 
‘behind at that halting-place, and this now made him realize 
‘that Platon was dead, but at the same instant, suggested by 
‘God knows what, there arose in his mind the recollection of 
‘an evening that he had spent in company with a Polish beauty 
/one summer, on the balcony of his mansion at Kief. And, 
nevertheless, without making any effort to co-ordinate his 
recollections, and drawing no conclusions from them, Pierre * 
‘elosed his eyes, and the vision of the summer scene mingled 
|with his recollections of bathing, of the fluid, rolling globe, 
jand he seemed to be sinking in water, so that the water went 
}over his head. 
















| Before sunrise he was wakened by loud and frequent firing 


jand shouts. The French were flying past him. 
| “Les Cosaques!” cried one of them, and in a moment 
Pierre was surrounded by a throng of Russians. 

It was some time before Pierre could realize what had hap- 


y By fe WAR AND PEACE. 


pened to him. On all sides he heard the joyful vociferations 
of his comrades. “Brothers! comrades! friends!” shouted 
old soldiers, and burst into tears as they embraced Cossacks 
and hussars. Cossacks and hussars surrounded the prisoners 
and made haste to offer them some clothes, some shoes, some 
bread. 

Pierre stood in the midst of them, sobbing, and could not 
speak a word. He threw his arms around the first soldier 
whom he met and kissed him weeping. 


~ Dolokhof stood at the gates of the dilapidated mansion, 
watching the throng of the disarmed French file past him. 
The Frenchmen, excited by all that had occurred, were talking 
loudly among themselves; but when they passed Dolokhof, 
who stood lightly flecking his boots with his nagaika, or short 
whip, and watched them with his cool, glassy glance, that 
boded them nothing good, their voices were hushed. On the 
other side stood Dolokhof’s Cossack and counted the prisoners, 
scoring them in hundreds on the gate with a bit of chalk. 

“How many ?” asked Dolokhof of the Cossack who was 
counting the prisoners. 

“Into the second hundred,” replied the Cossack. 

“ Filez, filez!—Step on, step on!” exclaimed Dolokhof, 
who had learned this expression of the French; and as his 
eyes met those of the prisoners who filed past, they lighted 
with a cruel gleam. 

Denisof, with a gloomy face, walked bare-headed behind the 
Cossacks who were carrying the body of Petya Rostof to a 
grave which they had dug in the garden. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


* Arter the ninth of November, when hard frosts began, the 
flight of the French assumed a still more tragic charactet 
because of the many who perished of the cold or were burned 
to death at the camp-fires, while the emperor, kings, and. 
dukes continued to pursue their homeward way wrapped in 
furs and riding in carriages, and carrying the treasure that 
they had stolen. 

But in its real essence the process of flight and dissolution: 
of the army had not really changed. 

From Moscow to Viazma the seventy-three thousand com- 
posing the French army, not counting the Guard, — whiel: 








WAR AND PEACE. 173 

throughout the whole war had done nothing except pillage, — 

‘the seventy-three thousand of the army were reduced to thirty- 

ysix thousand. Out of the number lost, not more than five 

‘thousand perished in battle. This is the first term of a pro- 

‘gression whereby, with mathematical accuracy, the succeeding 
terms are determined. 

- The French army melted away and was destroyed in the 

jsame proportion from Moscow to Viazma, from Viazma to 

‘Smolensk, from Smolensk to the Beresina, from the Beresina 

‘to Vilno, independently of the greater or. less degree of cold, 
the pursuit of the Russians, the obstruction of the road, and 

vall other conditions taken singly. 

_ After Viazma, the French armies, instead of marching in 
three columns, went in one crowd, and thus proceeded to the 
end. 

) Berthier wrote to his sovereign (it is well known how far 

‘commanders allow themselves to depart from the truth in 
describing the position of their armies). — He wrote : — 

» T think it my duty to acquaint your majesty with the condition of 
the troops in the different army corps that I have observed during these 
last three days in the various stages. They are almost disbanded. Less 
than a fourth of the soldiers remain under the standards, at most. This 

: proportion holds in nearly all the regiments. The others are straggling off 
by themselves in different directions, trying to find provisions and to escape 
‘from discipline. All of them look to Smolensk as the place where they 
will retrieve themselves. During the last few days many soldiers have been 
noticed throwing away their cartridges and muskets. In this condition of 

' things, the interests of your majesty’s service require that, whatever your 
ultimate plans may be, the army should be rallied at Smolensk, and rid of 
| non-combatants, of unmounted cavalrymen, of superfluous baggage, and 
of a portion of the artillery, since it is no longer in proportion to the effec- 
tive of the army. Moreover, the soldiers require some days of rest and 
supplies of food, for they are worn out by hunger and fatigue; many in 
| the last few days have died on the road or in bivouac. ‘This state of 
| things is constantly growing worse, and there is danger that, if remedies 
are not promptly applied, the troops could not be controlled in case of 
| battle. — November 9, at thirty versts from Smolensk.’ 
















* “ Te crois devoir faire connaitre a votre majesté l’état de ses troupes dans 
(les différents corps d’armée que j'ai été a méme Vobserver depuis deux ou trois 
jours dans différents passages. Elles sont presque debandées. Le nombre 
des soldats qui suivent les drapeaux est en proportion du quart au plus dans 
‘presque tous les regiments, les autres marchant isolément dans différents 
| directions et pour leur compte, dans Vespérance de trouver des subsistances et 
_pour se débarrasser de la discipline. En général ils regardent Smolensk 
‘comme la point ou ils doivent se refaire. Ces derniers jours ona remarqueé 
| que beaucoup de soldats jettent leurs cartouches et leurs armes. Dans cette 
| état de choses, Vinterét du service de votre majesté exige, quelles que sortent ses 
} vues ultérieures, qu’on rallie Varmée a Smolensk en commencgant a la debar- 
| rasser des non-combattants, tels que hommes demontés et des bagages inutiles 




























174 WAR AND PEACE. 


Rushing into Smolensk, which was to them like the prom. 
ised land, the French fought with one another for food, pil- 
laged their own stores, and when everything had been 
plundered they hurried on. — 

All fled, not knowing whither or why; and Napoleon, with 
all his genius, knew less than others why they did so, for no 
one ordered him to fly. 

But, nevertheless, he and those around him observed thei: 
old habits: wrote orders, letters, reports, ordres du jour, an 
they addressed one another as— Sire, Mon Cousin, Prinee 
d’Eckmiihl, Roi de Naples, ete. But these orders and reports 
were only on paper; nothing was done according to them, 
because they could no longer be carried out; and though they 
continued to call each other Majesty, Highness, and Cousin, 
they all felt that they were miserable wretches, who had done 
much evil, and that expiation had begun. And, though they 
pretended to be very solicitous about the army, each of them 
thought only of himself and how he might get off and escape 
as speedily as possible. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


Tur actions of the Russian and French troops during the 
retreat from Moscow to the Niemen were like the game of 
zhmirki, or blind-man’s-buff, where the two players have thei 
eyes bandaged, and one of them rings a bell from time to 
time, to call the attention of the “ catcher.” 

At first, the one who is to be caught sounds his bell without 
fear of the enemy; but when the pursuer is coming close to him, 
he seeks to evade his pursuer by going noiselessly, and often, 
when he thinks he is escaping, he runs directly into his arms, 

At first Napoleon’s troops let themselves be heard from —+ 
this was during the first period of their movement on _ the 
Kaluga road; but afterwards, when they had gone back t 
the Smolensk road, holding the clapper of the bell, they fled, 
and, while believing that they were escaping, they ran righ 
into the enemy. 


et du materiel de Vartillerie qui n’est plus en proportion avec les forces 
actuelles. Enoutre les jours de repos, des subsistances sont nécessaires aust 
soldats qui sont extenués par la faim et la fatigue ; beaucoup sont morts ce 
derniers jours sur la route et dans les bivacs. Cet état de choses va toujour. 
en augmentant et donne lieu de craindre que sil’on n'y préte un prompt re 
mede, on ne soit plus maitre des troupes dans un combat. Le 9 Novembre, « 
30 verstes de Smolensk,”’ 


WAR AND PEACE. 175 


Owing to the speed with which the Freee ran and the 

Russians pursued and the consequent exhaustion of the horses, 
jhe chief method of ascertaining the position of an enemy — 
‘econnoissance by cavalry — became impossible. Moreover, 
wing to the numerous and rapid changes of position in both 
imies, information, such as it was, always came too late. 
_ If the news came on one day that the enemy’s army was at 
such and such a place the night before, on the next day, by 
whe time that anything could ‘be undertaken, this army would 
ave already made a two-days’ march and occupied an entirely 
lifferent position. 

One army fled, the other pursued. From Smolensk the 
(french had a choice among many different routes, and it 
would seem as if, during their four- days’ halt there, they 
night have reconnoitred the enemy, adopted some advantage- 
yus plan, and tried some other way. 

But after the four-days’ rest the army hastened on in 
Brong# turning neither to the right nor to the left, and with- 
wut manoeuvres or combinations following the beaten track 
Jong their former route — the worst of all-—that of Krasnoye 
md Orsha. 

Thinking always that the enemy was behind and not before 
'hem, the French hastened on, spreading out and scattering 
iften twenty-four hours’ march from each other. 

_ At the head of the whole army ran the emperor, then the 
tings, then the dukes. 

. The Russian army, believing that Napoleon would turn to 
|he right toward the Dniepr, which was the only reasonable 
oute, ‘themselves turned to the right, and followed the main 
,oad toward Krasnoye. 

And here, just as in the game of blind-man’s-buff, the 
french ran against our advance guard. 

-Having thus unexpectedly caught sight of the enemy, the 
french were confused, and paused in astonishment and fright, 
»nly to resume their flight, abandoning their comrades, who 
followed them. There, for three days, the separate fragments 
(£ the French army ran, one after the other, as it were, the 
antlet of the Russian troops; first came the corps of the 
iceroy, then Davoust’s, then Ney’ Ss: 

» They all abandoned each other, they all abandoned their 
|. eavy possessions, the artillery, half of their forces, and took 
}0 flight, marching only by night and in détows, so as to 
void the Russians. 

| Ney, who came last (because, in spite of their wretched 





176 WAR AND PEACE. 


condition, or rather in consequence of it, since, like the boy, | 
ne wanted to beat the floor on which he had been hurt, he had 
stopped! to blow up the unoffending walls of Smolensk), —-| 
Ney, coming last, rejoined Napoleon at Orsha with only one 
thousand men out of the ten thousand of his corps. Having 
abandoned all his soldiers and all his artillery, he had sue-| 
ceeded in secretly making his way through the woods by! 
night, and crossing the Dniepr. | 

From Orsha they hastened onward, taking the road to! 
Vilno, in exactly the same way, playing blind-man’s-buff with | 
the pursuing army. | 

At the Beresina again they were thrown into confusion. | 
Many were drowned, many gave themselves up; but those | 
who crossed the river still hastened on. 

Their chief commander wrapped himself up in his furs, got 
into a sledge, and, abandoning his companions, galloped off| 
alone. ; | 
Those who could escaped the same way ; those wh® could| 
not surrendered or perished. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 


Ir would seem as if, during this period of the campaign, 
while the French did everything possible to ruin themselves, | 
while in no single movement of this mass of men, beginning} 
with its défour on the Kaluga road up to the flight of Napo- 
leon, was there one gleam of sense, — it would seem as if those 
historians who consider the action of the masses subservient 
to the will of a single man might find it impossible to make 
this retreat fit in with their theory. it 

But no! Mountains of books have been written by histo- 
vians concerning this campaign, and Napoleon’s plans and 
dispositions have been characterized as profound, as well-as 
the manwuvres executed by the troops, and the genius shown 
by the marshals in their measures. | 

The retreat from Malo-Yaroslavets — that useless retreat b 
a devastated route, when he was offered one through a well 
supplied region, when he might have taken the parallel road 
by which Kutuzof afterwards pursued him — is explained for 
us according to various profound considerations. By these 
same profound considerations his retreat from Smolensk tc 
Orsha is described. Then they describe his bravery at Kras) 
noye, where, we are led to believe, he was ready to put hin 











WAR AND PEACE. 177 
self at the head of his troops and to give battle, and where he 
marched with a birchen cane, saying : — 

_ “Thave been emperor long enough; it is time to be the 
general.” * 

_ And yet, immediately after this, he fled, leaving to their 
fate the defenceless fragments of his army struggling after 
_ Then they describe for us the grandeur of soul displayed by 
she marshals, especially by Ney, whose grandeur of soul was 
shown by his sneaking through the forest; and passing the 
‘Dniepr by night, and escaping into Orsha without his stan- 
: and artillery, and with a loss of nine-tenths of his 
Loops. 

_ And, finally, the great emperor himself abandoning his 
leroic army is represented by historians as something grand, 
(us a stroke of genius. Even this last miserable ‘trick of run- 
|uing away, which in ordinary language would be called the 
|owest degree of meanness, which every child is taught 
po consider a shameful deed, even this vile trick finds justifi- 
sation among the historians. 

| For when it is no longer possible to stretch out the attenu- 
|wed threads of historical arguments, when actions flagrantly 
sontradict what humanity calls good and even right, the his- 
\jorilans bring up the saving idea of greatness. Greatness 
\seems to exclude the possibility of applying the standards of 
,700d and evil. In the great, nothing is bad. He who is 
|jreat is not charged with the atrocity of which he may have 
deen guilty. 

,, “It is great! — C'est grand!” say the historians; and then 
,here is no more good or evil, but only great and not great. 
Great 1s good; not great is bad. 

Greatness is, according to them, the quality of certain pecul- 
ar beings, whom they call heroes. 

. And Napoleon, fleeing to his own fireside, wrapped in his 
tvarm furs, and leaving behind his perishing companions, and 
| hose men whom, according to his idea, he had led into Russia, 
eels gue c’est grand, and his soul is tranquil. 

|. “There is only one step,” he said, “ from the sublime to the 
jidiculous.” (He thinks himself sublime!) And for fifty 
) ears everybody has repeated it: “ Sublime! Great! Napoléon 
\2grand/” ‘Truly, there is only one step from the sublime ta 
, he ridiculous ! f 
















* J'ai assez fait Vempereur, il est temps de faire le général. 
+ Du sublime au ridicule il n’y a qu ’un pas. 


VOL. 4, phe 12. 


178 WAR AND PEACE. 


It has never entered the mind of any man that by taking 
greatness as the absolute standard of good and evil, he only 
proclaims his own emptiness and immeasurable littleness. 

For us who have the standard of right and wrong set by 
Christ, there is nothing incommensurate. And there is no 
greatness where there is not simplicity, goodness, and justice. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


Wuat Russian is there who, reading the descriptions of the 
last period of the campaign of 1812, has not experienced a 
profound feeling of annoyance, dissatisfaction, and perplexity ? 

Who has not asked himself: Why did we not capture or 
destroy all the French, when they were surrounded by our 
three armies, each of superior numbers ; when, dying of starva- 
tion and cold, they surrendered in throngs ; and when, as history 
tells us, the atm of the Russians was precisely this — to cut 
off the French, to stop them, and to take them all prisoners ? 

How was it that this army, — which, when weaker in num- 
bers, fought the battle of Borodino, — how was it that this 
army, when it surrounded the French on three sides, and in- 
tended to take them prisoners, did not accomplish its pur- 
pose ? 

Had the French such immense pre-eminence over us that we, 
though possessing superior numbers, and having surrounded 
them, could not defeat them ? 

How was it that this failed of execution ? 

History, —or what is called history, —in reply to these 
questions, declares that it failed of execution because Kutuzot, 
and Tormasof, and Chitchagof, and this one and that one, an 
the other, did not execute such and such manoeuvres. 

But why did they not execute these manoeuvres ? If these 
generals were to blame because the end in view was not at 
tained, why were they not court-martialled and put to death ¢ 

But even if we admit that Kutuzof and Chitchagof and the 
others were to blame for the Russian non-success, it is still 1D¥ 
possible to understand why the Russian troops, under thé 
conditions which obtained at Krasnoye and at the Beresip 
(for in both cases the Russians were superior in numbers) 
did not capture the French troops, with their marshals, kings) 
and emperors, if such was the object of the Russians. 1 

This strange phenomenon cannot be explained —as is don¢ 
by the Russian military historians — by saying that it was 













| 
| 
| 
4] 



















WAR AND PEACE. 179 


‘ 
F é 


: because Kutuzof prevented offensive operations, for we know 
) that Kutuzof’s will was unable to restrain the troops from 
| attacking at Viazma and at Tarutino. 

) ifthe Russian army, which with inferior forces was able at 
) Borodino to wrest a victory from an enemy then at the zenith of 
, its strength, why could it not conquer the demoralized throngs 
| of the French at Krasnoye and at the Beresina, when its forces 
| had become superior ? | 

| Ifthe object of the Russians had been to cut off and cap- 
_ ture Napoleon and his marshals, and this.object not only was 
}not attained, but all attempts in that direction failed in the 
most shameful manner, then the French were perfectly right 
in representing the last period of the campaign as a series of 
| victories, and Russian historians are perfectly wrong in repre- 
senting that we were victorious. 

| Russian military historians, if they have any regard for 
logic, must come to this conclusion, and, in spite of their 
lyrical effusions about courage and patriotism, must logically 
confess that the retreat of the French from Moscow was for 
Napoleon a series of victories, and.for Kutuzof a series of 
) defeats. 

) _ But, if we put absolutely aside national pride, we feel that 
this conclusion involves a contradiction, since this series of 
/victories on the part of the French brought them to complete 
i destruction, while the series of defeats on the part of the Rus- 
/Sians led them to the absolute overthrow of their enemy, and 
| the evacuation of their own country. 

The source of this contradiction lies in the fact that histo- 
mans who study events in the correspondence of kings and 
generals, and in official narratives, reports, and plans, have 
taken for granted the entirely false and unjustifiable idea that 
ithe object of the last period of the campaign of 1812 was to 
yout off and to capture Napoleon and his marshals and his 
army. | 

) This object never existed, and could not exist, because it 
jhad no sense, and it was absolutely impossible of attainment. 

, The object had no sense, in the first place, because Napo- 
jteon’s demoralized army was flying from Russia with all 
possible speed: in other words, was fulfilling the very wish 
pot every Russian. What reason in directing various military 
}dperations against the Freuch, who were running away as fast 
js they could go? 

} Secondly, it was senseless to try to stop men who were em: 
foloying all their energy in getting away. 





180 WAR AND PEACE. 

In the third place, it was senseless to sacrifice troops in 
destroying the French armies, who were going to destruction 
without external causes, and at such a rate that even when 
every road was given them. undisputed, they could carry 
across the frontier only the small number that remained to 
them in the month of December —a hundredth part of their 
whole army. 

In the fourth place, it was senseless to wish to make pris- 
oners of the emperor, the kings, and the marshals, and the 
men, for their captivity. would have been to the highest 
degree embarrassing to the Russians, as was recognized by 
the ablest diplomatists of the time, J. Maistre and ‘others. 

Sti]] more senseless was the desire to capture whole 
regiments of the French, when the Russian army had been 
reduced one-half by the time it reached Krasnoye, and whole 
divisions would have been needed to guard the troops of pris- 
oners, and when their own soldiers were not all the time 
receiving full rations, and when the French already captured | 
were dying of starvation! 

All of this profound plan of cutting off and seizing Napo- 
leon and his army was like the plan of the gardener who, in 
trying to drive out of his enclosure the cattle that were tramp- 
ling down his garden, should run to the gates and strike them 
on the head when they passed out. The only thing that could 
be said in the gardener’s justification would be that he was very 
angry. But this excuse could not be made for those who 
devised this plan, for they were not the ones who suffered 
from the trampled garden. 

The idea of cutting off Napoleon and his army, beside being 
senseless, was impossible. a 

It was impossible, first, because, since experience has shown | 
that the movement of columns of soldiers in battle for a_ 
distance of five versts can never be made in accordance with 
plans, the probability that Chitchagof, Kutuzof, and Witt 
genstein would effect a junction at a designated place on 
time was so slight that it amounted to an impossibility, as 
Kutuzof felt, who, on receiving the sovereign’s plan, de- 
clared that operations at great distances never gave the 
desired results. 

Secondly, it was impossible because, in order to neutralize 
that momentum with which Napoleon’s army was recoiling, 
incomparably larger forces would have been necessary than 
those which the Russians had. 

Thirdly, it was impossible because the military phrase “to 


WAR AND PEACE. 181 


| cut off” an enemy has no sense. We may cut off a piece of 
bread, but not an army. 

| To cut off an army, to dispute its road, is never possible, 
| for there are always many places where détours can be made, 
_ and there is the night, when nothing can be seen, as military 
, students may convince themselves from the example of what 
| took place at Krasnoye or the Beresina. | 
, It is Just as impossible to take a person prisoner, unless the 
| person taken prisoner consents to be seized, as it is to catch a 
_ swallow, unless it come and light on your hand. 

| Armies can be captured only when they surrender, as the 
| Germans do — according to the rules of strategy and tacties. 
i But the French troops, with perfect correctness, found this 
unfit, since death by cold and starvation awaited them alike in 
| flight and in captivity. 

| Fourthly, — and chiefly, — this was impossible because 
never since the world began was there a war under such 
terrible conditions as those which characterized the campaign 
|of 1812; and the Russian troops, in pursuing the French, 
| strained every effort, and could do no more without going to 
| destruction themselves. 

During the movement of the Russian army from Tarutino 
| to Krasnoye fifty thousand men —in other words, a number 
‘equivalent to the population of a large provincial city — were 
sick and disabled. 

Half of the men left the army without a battle. 

And in regard to this period of the campaign, — when the 
troops, without boots or great-coats, with insufficient food, and 
}without vodka, for months spent the nights in the snow, ina 
,temperature fifteen degrees below freezing; when the days 
| were only seven or eight hours long, and all the rest of the 
| twenty-four were night, discipline being in such circumstances 
‘Impossible ; when, not as in battle, men for a few hours only 
,enter the domain of death where there was no discipline, but 
| lived for months in an incessant struggle with death from cold 
and starvation; when in a single month half of the army per- 
)ished,—in regard to this period of the campaign, historians 
tell us how Miloradovitch ought to have made a flank move- 
}ment in this direction, and Tormasof in that, and Chitchagof 
in another (struggling through snow that was knee-deep), and 
;how such and such a one “destroyed” and “cut off” —and so 
}on, and so on! 

, The Russians, of whom one-half perished, accomplished all 
‘that they could or ought to have done to attain an end worthy 

















| 


182 WAR AND PEACE. \ 


of the people, and they are not to blame if other Russians, 
sitting in warm apartments, proposed what it was impossible 
to do. 

All this strange and at the present time incomprehensible 
contradiction between the fact and the historical account 
arises simply from this: the historians who have written _ 
about these events have described the fine sentiments and the 
fine speeches of different generals, and not the history of the 
event. 

Very important to them seem the speeches of Milorado- | 
vitch, the rewards received by this, that, and the other gen-_ 
eral, and their proposals; but the question about the fifty — 
thousand Russian soldiers who were left behind in hospftals — 
or in nameless graves does not interest them, because it is 
outside of their studies. . 

And yet all it requires is for them to turn their attention 
from the study of the reports and plans of the generals, and 
to follow the movements of these hundred thousand men wht 
took an active, immediate part in the event, and all the ques- 
tions that before seemed insolvable will at once be solved © 
with extraordinary ease and simplicity. 

The aim of cutting off the retreat of Napoleon and his army 
never existed except in the imaginations of a dozen men, 
It could not exist, because it was absurd and its realization — 
impracticable. : 

The Russian people had only one object in view: to rid_ 
their soil of the invaders. ] 

The object was attained, in the first place, of its own 
accord, because the French ran away, and afterwards it was 
only necessary not to check that movement. In the second j 
place, this object was attained by means of that popular warfare _ 
which destroyed the French; and, in the third place, because the 
ereat Russian army followed the enemy, ready to employ force ; 
mn case the movement of the French was suspended. at 

The Russian army acted like the knout on a running’ 
animal. And the experienced cattle-driver knew that it was 

most advantageous to threaten it with upraised whip, but nt 
~ to strike the running animal] on the head. | 


i 


| 


‘| 
4 
fy 
) 
} 


‘ 


PART FOURTH. 


CHAPTER I. 


| WHEN a man sees a dying animal, horror seizes him: what 
| he himself is, — his own essence, —is evidently perishing be- 
| fore his very eyes, — ceasing to exist. 

But when the dying one is a human being, and a person 
| beloved and tenderly cherished, then, over and above the 
(horror at the cessation of the life, there is felt a rending and 
/ wounding of the soul. This wound, like a physical wound, 
/sometimes kills, sometimes heals, but it is always sore, and 
shrinks from any external, irritating touch. 

After Prince Andrei’s death, Natasha and the Princess 
| Mariya felt this in the same way. Their souls had quailed 
and bowed under the threatening cloud of death that hung 
over them, and they dared not look into the face of life. They 
| were extremely cautious not to expose their wounds to humili- 
| ating, painful contact. ; 

_ Everything —a swiftly passing carriage on the street, the 
|announcement of dinner, the maid’s question as to what dresses 
(she should get ready for them; still worse, a word of per- 
‘Tunctory, feeble sympathy — made the wound throb painfully, 
‘seemed an affront, and profaned that urgent silence in which 
{they both were striving to listen to that stern, terrible choir 
) which ceased not, in their imagination, to chant, and prevented 
jthem from looking into those mysterious, infinite distances 
which, for an instant, opened out before them. 

Only when they. were together alone, they felt no sense of 
fpain and humiliation. They talked together very little. 
|When they talked, it was on the most insignificant topics. 
} And both of them alike avoided all reference to anything con- 
cerning the future. 

To recognize the possibility of a future seemed to them an 
| offence to his memory. All the more sedulously they avoided 
| in their talk everything that had reference to the departed. 
,It seemed to them that what they experienced and felt could 
not be expressed in words. It seemed to them that every 

183 ia id 














184 WAR AND PEACE. if 
verbal reference to the separate events ot his life disturbed 
the majesty and sacredness of the mystery which had been 
accomplished before their eyes. 

Their continual self-restraint, their constant, strenuous | 
avoidance of all that might lead to mention of him, these — 
halting-places which stood in the way of every possible ap- — 
proach to the subject which they had tacitly agreed to leave 
untouched, brought up before their imaginations with all the 
ereater clearness and distinctness that which they felt. 

But pure, unmitigated grief is as impossible as pure and un- 
mitigated joy. 

The Princess Mariya, by her position as sole and inde- — 
pendent mistress of her fate, as guardian and instructor of her | 
nephew, was the first to be brought, by the exigencies of real 
life, forth from that world of tribulation in which she had | 
been living for the past fortnight. She received letters from — 
her relatives, which had to be answered; the room which © 
Nikolushka occupied was damp, and he began to have a 
cough. Alpatuitch came from Yaroslavl with his accounts to | 
be rectified, and with his proposal and advice for her to go | 
back to Moscow, to her house on the Vozdvizhenka, which — 
had remained intact and needed only small repairs. 

Life would not stand still, and it was necessary to live. . 

Hard as it was for the Princess Mariya to emerge from that 
world of solitary contemplation in which she had been living © 
till then, sorry as she was, and almost conscience-stricken, to _ 
leave Natasha alone, the labors of life demanded her partici- © 
pation, and she, in spite of herself, had to give way. i 

She verified Alpatuitch’s accounts, consulted with Dessalles — 
in regard to her nephew, and made arrangements and prep- _ 
arations for her journey to Moscow. | 

Natasha had been left to herself, and, since the Princess |) 
Mariya began to get ready for her departure, avoided even — 
her. i 

The Princess Mariya proposed to the countess to let 
Natasha go to Moscow with her, and both father and mother — 
gladly consented, since each day they noticed a decline in- 
their daughter’s physical vigor, and hoped that a change of © 
scene would do her good, and that the physicians of Moscow H 
would help her. i 

“JT will go nowhere,” replied Natasha, when this matter was) 
proposed to her. “ All I ask is to be left in pefice,” said she, ~ 
and she hastened from the room, scarcely able to restrain her | 
tears, — tears not so much of grief as of vexation: and anger. 

a 


WAR AND PEACE. 185 


Since she had felt herself abandoned by the Princess 
| Mariya, and left alone with her grief, Natasha, for the most 
| of the time, sat in her room with her feet in the corner of the 
| sofa, and, while her slender, nervous fingers kept tearing or 
_ bending something or other, her eyes would remain obstinately 
fixed on whatever happened to attract her attention. 

This solitude exhausted, tortured her; but it was some- 
| thing that she could not help. As soon as any one came to 
| her, she would quickly get up, change her position and the 
expression of her eyes, and take up her book or her sewing, 
| and make no attempt to conceal her desire that the one who 
| came to disturb her should go. 
| It constantly seemed to her that she was on the very point 
| of discovering, of penetrating that terrible, unendurable 
| problem on which her mental eye was directed. 

About the beginning of January, Natasha, thin and pale, 
| and dressed in a black woollen dress, with her braid carelessly 
| knotted up in a pug, was sitting with her feet up on the sofa, 
| concentratedly puckering and folding out the ends of her sash, 
|| and gazing with her eyes fixed on the door. 
| She was looking at the place where he had vanished, at that 
| Side of life. And that side of life, of which she had never 
| thought in the days gone by, which hitherto had always 

‘seemed to her so distant and unreal, was now nearer and more 
| familiar, more comprehensible, than the ordinary side of life, 
| where everything was either emptiness and decay, or suffering 
; and humiliation. 

She looked at the place where she knew he had been; but 
she could not make it out that he was not there still. She 
saw him once more as he had been.at Muitishchi, at 'Proitsa, 
at Yaroslavl. 

She saw his face, heard his voice, repeated his words and 
the words which she had said to him, and sometimes she im- 
}agined words that they might have spoken. 
| There he is lying in the easy-chair, in his velvet shubka, 
| with his head leaning on his thin white hand. His chest is 
| terribly sunken and his shoulders raised. His lips are firmly 
} set, his eyes are gleaming, and on his pallid brow a wrinkle 
{comes and goes. One leg trembles almost imperceptibly with 
{a rapid motion. 

f Natasha knew that he was struggling with tormenting pain. 
; “What is that pain like? Why that pain? How does he 
tfeel? How does it pain him?” she wonders. 

| He noticed her fixed gaze, he raised his eyes, and without a 
trace of a smile began to speak : — ) 











186 WAR AND PEACE. 

“There is one thing terrible,” said he, “to be bound for. 
ever to a suffering man. This is eternal torment!” And he 
looked at her with a scrutinizing glance. Natasha replied 
then, as she always did, before she had time to think what she 
should reply. She said: “This cannot continue so, it will 
not be so always; you will get well —entirely well.” 

She now saw him as he had been from the first, and lived 
over in her memory all that she had then experienced. She 
recalled that long, melancholy, stern look which he had given 
her at those words, and she realized the significance of the 
reproach and despair expressed in this protracted look. 

“T agreed with him,” said Natasha to herself, “that it 
would be terrible if he should remain always suffering so. I 
said this at that time, simply because I meant that for him it 
would be terrible, but he understood it in a different way. — 
He thought that it would be terrible forme. At that time he 
was still anxious to live, was afraid to die. And I said this so 
crudely, so stupidly! I did not think of that. I meant 
something entirely different. If I had said what I meant, I 
should have said: ‘If he were to perish by a living death | 
before my eyes, I should be happy in comparison with what I | 
feel now” Now—there is no one, nothing! Could he have 
known this? No! He knew it not, and he will never know! 
And now it is too late, too late to set this right.” 

And once more he said to her those same words, but this 
time Natasha, in her imagination, answered him in a different 
way. She stopped him and said: “Terrible for you, but not 
for me. You know that for me life without you would be 
nothing, and to suffer with you is the dearest happiness.” 

And he seized her hand and pressed it just as he had 
pressed it that terrible evening four days before he died. 
And in her imagination she spoke to him still other tender, — 
loving words which she might have uttered then, but did not, 
and which now she could and did say: —“I love thee!—~ 
thee I love, I love!” she repeated, convulsively wringing her § 
hands, clinching her teeth, with set determination. 

And the bitter sweetness of grief took possession of her, — 
and her eyes filled with tears, but suddenly she asked herself 
to whom she was saying that. “Where is he and what is he i 
now?” And once more everything grew dark with hard and 
eruel doubt, and, once more closely drawing her brows into a- 
frown, she looked at the place where he had been. And now,) 
now it seemed to her that she was going to fathom the mys — — 

But at the very instant when it seemed to her that the mm 














WAR AND PEACE. 187 


| comprehensible was already about to reveal itself to her, a 
_ loud rattling of the door-knob painfully struck upon her ears. 
| With hasty, incautious steps, with a frightened expression 
| never before seen on her face, Dunyasha the maid came run- 
| ning into the room. 

| “Please come to your papa as quick as possible,” said Dun- 
\yasha, with that peculiar and excited look. “Bad news 
| about Piotr Ilyitch —a letter,” she cried with a sob. 


I) CHAPTER II. 

U 

__ Bestpes the general feeling of aversion for all people, 
| Natasha at this time experienced a peeuliar feeling of aversion 
|for the members of her own family. All her relatives—father, 
|mother, Sonya —were so near to her, so familiar, so every-day, 
| that all their words, their sentiments, seemed to her a disre- 
spect to that world in which she had been lately living, and 
she looked upon them not only with indifferent but even 
jhostile eyes: She heard Dunyasha’s words about Piotr 
i Ilyitch, about bad news, but she did not take them in. 

| “What misfortune can have happened to them? what bad 
news can it be? Everything with them goes on calmly, as it 
lalways has,” said Natasha mentally. 

As she went into the hall her father was coming hastily out 
;0f the countess’s room. He was evidently hastening from 
‘her room so as to give free course to the affliction that over- 
|mastered him. His face was wrinkled and wet with tears. 
'When he saw Natasha he waved his hands in despair, and 
}burst into painfully convulsive sobs, which distorted his 
.cound, placid face. 

“ Pet — Petya — go to her, go —she —she is —calling for 
ryou ” — . 

f And, crying like a child, swiftly shuffling along on his 
\teeble legs, he went to a chair and almost fell into it, burying 
ais face in his hands. ) 

} Suddenly something like an electric shock ran over Nata- 
psha’s whole being. A terribly acute pain struck her heart. 
(She experienced a cruel agony. It seemed to her that some- 
phing within her snapped and that she was dying. But im- 
jnediately succeeding this agony there came a sense of 
leliverance from the torpor which had been weighing down 
yer life. Seeing her father, and hearing her mother’s terribly 


Paes 


188 WAR AND PEACE. 


agonized cry in the next room, she instantly forgot herself 
and her own sorrow. 
She ran up to her father, but he, listlessly waving his arm, 
pointed to her mother’s door.. 
The Princess Mariya, with her lower jaw trembling, came 
out of the room and took Natasha by the hand and said some- 
thing to her. 
Natasha saw her not, heard her not. With swift steps she 
passed through the door, paused for an instant, as though 
struggling with her own inclinations, and ran to her mother. 
The countess lay in her easy-chair, in a strangely awkward 
and stiff position, and was beating her head against the wall. 
Sonya and the maids were holding her by the arms. 
«Natasha! Natasha!” cried the countess. “It is false! 
false !—- He lies! — Natasha!” she cried, trying to tear her- 
self away from those holding her — “ Go away allof you. It 
is false! Killed ? Ha! ha! ha! —’Tis false!” 
Natasha leaned her knee on the chair, bent over her mother, 
threw her arms around her, lifted her up with unexpected 
strength, turned her face around, and pressed her cheeks 
against hers. 
“ Mémenka ! — Darling !—TI am here, dearest! Mamenka!” 
she kept whispering, without a second’s intermission. 
She kept her arms firmly around her mother, gently 
struggled with her, called for cushions and water, and unbut- 
toned and undid her mother’s dress. 
“ Darling, dearest — mamenka — dearest heart!” * she kept 
all the time whispering while she kissed her head, hands, and 
face, and felt how her tears, like rivulets, tickling her nose 
and her cheeks, kept flowing. 
The countess pressed her daughter’s hand, closed her eyes, 
and was calm for an instant. Then suddenly, with unnatural 
swiftness, she raised herself up, glared around wildly, and, 
seeing Natasha, pressed _her hand with all her might. Then 
she turned toward her Natasha’s face, convulsed with the pain, 
and long scrutinized it. 
“Natasha, you love me,” she said, in a low, confidential 
whisper. “Natasha, you would not deceive me? Tell me 
the whole truth.” 
Natasha looked at her with eyes brimming with tears, an 
her face expressed only a prayer for forgiveness and love. 
“ Dearest, maémenka,” she repeated, exerting all the energie 
of her love, in order to take upon herself some of the excess 0 


* Druk moi, golubushka, ndmenka, dushenka. 





WAR AND PEACE. 189 


‘woe that had come too heavy for her mother to bear. And 
again, in that unequal struggle against the reality, the mother, 
‘refusing to believe that she could still exist when her darling 
boy, treasured far more than life, was killed, she relapsed 
‘from the reality into the world of unreason. 

Natasha could not have told how that first day passed, that 
night, the following day, and the following night. She did 
not sleep, and did not leave her mother’s side. Natasha’s 
love, faithful, patient, every second, as it were, wrapped the 
countess round about not with consolation, not with explana- 
‘tion, but with something like a summons back to life. 

_ On the third night the countess grew calm for several min- 
ees: and Natasha closed her eyes, and rested her head on the 
arm of the chair. The bed creaked; Natasha opened her 
eyes. The countess was sitting on the bed, and said, in a 
low tone : — 

| “How glad I am that you have come! You are tired; 
‘wouldn’t you like some tea ? ” 

| Natasha went to her. 

| “You have grown handsome and strong!” continued the 
)20untess, taking her daughter’s hand. 

| “Mamenka, what are you saying ? ” — 

, “Natasha! he is dead, he is dead!” And, throwing her 
‘ums around her daughter, the countess for the first time 
vegan to weep. 





















CHAPTER III. 


Tue Princess Mariya had postponed her departure. 

Sonya and the count tried to take Natasha’s place, but they 
ound it impossible. They saw that she was the only one 
(who could keep the mother from wild despair. For three 
veeks Natasha lived constantly by her mother’s side, slept in 
‘ter chair in her room, gave her food and drink, and talked to 
ler unceasingly, talked because her tender, caressing voice 
ivas the only thing that calmed the countess. 

" A wound in the heart of a mother cannot heal. Petya’s 
leath had torn away the half of her life. At the end of a 
‘nonth, after the news of Petya’s death had arrived, though it 
iad found her a fresh and well-preserved woman of fifty, she 
‘rept out of her room an old woman, half dead, and no longer 
aking any interest in life. But the same wound which had 
alf killed the countess, this new wound brought Natasha 
ack to life. 


19¢ WAR AND PEACE. 


The spiritual wound, arising from the laceration of the 
spiritual body, exactly like a physical wound, strange as it 
may seem, after the deep wound has cicatrized, and its edges 
have come together, — the spiritual wound, like the physical 
one, heals only through the inward working of the forces of 
life. . 

Thus healed Natasha’s wound. She thought that life for 
her was finished. But suddenly her love for her mother 
proved to her that the essence of her life —love — was still 
alive within her. Tove awoke and life awoke. 

Prince Andrei’s last days had brought Natasha and the 
Princess Mariya close together. This new misfortune still 
more united them. The Princess Mariya postponed her de- 
parture, and for three weeks she tended Natasha like an 
ailing child. The weeks spent by her in her mother’s room 
had been a severe drain on her physical energies. 

One time, toward noon, the Princess Mariya, observing that 
Natasha was trembling as though she had a fever, took her to 
her room, and made her lie down on her bed.’ Natasha lay 
down, but when the princess, pulling down the blinds, started 
to go, Natasha called her back. 

“T don’t care to sleep, Marie; sit down with me 

“You are tired; try to go to sleep.” 

“No, no! Why did you bring me away ? She will be 
asking for me!” 

«She is much better. She talked so naturally to-day,” said 
the Princess Mariya. 

Natasha lay on the bed, and in the semi-darkness of the 
room studied the Princess Mariya’s face. 

“Ts she like him?” Natasha asked herself. “ Yes, like 
him and not like him. But she is peculiar, strange, entirely 
original, unlike anybody else. And she loves me! What is’ 
n her heart? Nothing but goodness! But what, what does 
she think of me? How does she regard me? Yes, she 1s 
beautiful !”’ 

“Masha!” said she timidly, drawing her hand to her, 
“Masha, don’t think that I am bad. You don’t, do you? 
Masha! darling, how I love you! Let us always, always be 
friends!” . : 

And Natasha, throwing her arms around the Princess Ma- 
riya, began to kiss her hands and face. The princess was 
both embarrassed and delighted at this expression of Natasha’s 
feelings. | 

From that day forth began between the Princess Mariya 


12? 


WAR AND PEACE. 191 
and Natasha that passionate and tender friendship which only 
exists between women. 

They were constantly kissing each other, calling each other 
affectionate names, and spent the larger part of the time 
together. If one sighed, the other was anxious, and hastened 
to rejoin her friend. Each felt more at peace with herself 
‘when the two were together than when they were alone. 
There existed between them a stronger feeling than friend- 
‘ship: this was that exclusive feeling that life was only pos- 
sible when they were together. : 

_ Sometimes they sat without speaking for hours at a time; 
‘sometimes while in bed they would begin to talk and talk till 
morning. Their conversation ran mainly on their earliest recol- 
lections. 

The Princess Mariya would tell about her childhood. about 
her mother, about her father, about her hopes and fancies ; 
‘and Natasha, who in times gone by, through her easy lack of 
‘comprehension, would have been repelled by this life of devo- 
ition, of humility, by this poetry of Christian self-sacrifice, 
‘now feeling herself bound in affection to the princess, loved 
also the. princess’s past life, and began to comprehend the 
hitherto incomprehensible side of her life. 

She had no idea of applying in her own case the principles 
‘of this humility and self-abnegation, because she was accus- 
tomed to find other pleasures, but she comprehended and 
loved in her friend this formerly incomprehensible virtue. 

For the Princess Mariya also, when she heard Natasha’s 
Stories of her childhood and early youth, a formerly incom- 
prehensible phase of life — faith in life itself and in the joys 
of life — was revealed. 
| Neither of them liked to speak of him, for fear they should 
in words desecrate what seemed to them those lofty heights 
of feeling which were in their hearts; but this reticence 
concerning him was causing them, little by httle, — though 
they would not have believed it, — to forget him. 
Natasha grew thin and pale, and physically she became go 
feeble that her health was a constant topic of conversation, 
but this was agreeable to her. But sometimes, unexpectedly, 
‘there came over her not so much a fear of death as a fear of 
‘Pain, weakness, loss of beauty; and, in spite of herself, she 
sometimes attentively contemplated her bare arm, marvelling 
at its thinness, or in the morning she gazed into the mirror at 
Aer pinched and, as it seemed to her, wretched-looking face. 
{t seemed to her that this had to be so, and at the same.time 
‘4 filled her with terror and melancholy. 


192 WAR AND PEACE. 


One time she ran’ quickly upstairs, and found herself 
breathing hard. She immediately, in spite of herself, invented 
some excuse to go down again, and then once more ran Up- 
stairs to test her strength and see what she could do. 

Another time she called Dunyasha, and her voice sounded 
weak. She tried it once more; she called her, although she 
heard her coming — called her in those chest tones which she 
used to use in singing, and listened to them. 

She did not know it; she would not have believed it; but 
under what seemed to her the impenetrable crust of mould 
with which her soul was covered, already the delicate, tender, 
young shoots of grass were starting, which were bound to 
erow, and thus, by their life-giving, victorious force, hide 
from sight the sorrow which she had suffered, so that it would 
soon be forgotten. 

The wound was healing inwardly. Toward the beginning 
of February the Princess Mariya went to Moscow, and the 
count insisted upon Natasha going with her, so as to consult 
with the doctors. 


CHAPTER IV. 


A. rer the encounter at Viazma, where Kutuzof could not 
restrain his troops from the desire to overthrow, to cut off tae 
enemy, the further movement of the fleeing French and the 
pursuing Russians took place without a battle until they 
reached Krasnoye. 

The flight of the French was so rapid that the Russian 
army chasing them could not catch up with them, that the 
horses in the cavalry and artillery came to a standstill, and 
that information in regard to the movements of the French 
was always untrustworthy. 

The men of the Russian army were so worn out by these 
uninterrupted marches of forty versts a day, that they could 
‘not move onward any faster. 

To appreciate the degree of exhaustion which the Russian 
army suffered, it is only necessary to realize the significance 
of this fact, that, while the Russian army, on leaving Taru- 
tino, hada hundred thousand men, and lost during the whole 
march not more than five thousand in killed and wounded, 
and less than a hundred taken prisoners, they had only fifty 
thousand men when they got to Krasnoye. 

The swift pursuit of the Russians after the French was as 


WAR AND PEACE. 198 


destructive in its effect on them as the retreat was to the 
French. The difference was only that the Russian army 
moved at will, without that threat of destruction which hung 
over the French army, and that, while the stragglers and the 
sick from among the French would fall into the hands of 
_the enemy, the Russians who were left behind were at home. 
The principal cause of the diminution of N apoleon’s army 
_was the rapidity of its flight, and indubitable proof of this is 
furnished by the corresponding diminution of the Russian 
troops. 

| All Kutuzof’s efforts, just as had been the case at Tarutino 
and at Viazma, were directed —so far as lay in his power — 
' Solely to the preventing of interference with that destructive 
Movement of the French (though this was contrary to desires 
expressed in Petersburg and in the Russian army by his own 
generals), but to co-operate with it, and to render the move- 
ment of his own troops as easy as possible. | 

But, moreover, ever since the troops had begun to suffer 
‘rom fatigue, and from the tremendous losses due to the 
rapidity of the movement, Kutuzof had discovered still another 
reason for slackening the exertions of the army, and for 
delay. The object of the Russian troops was pursuit of the 
French. The route of the French was unknown, and there- 
fore the more closely our troops followed on their heels, the 
more separated they became. Only by following at some dis- 
‘tance was it possible (by the most direct road) to avoid the 
zigzags made by the French. 

All the intricate manceuvres proposed by the generals in- 
volved an increase for the troops in their marches, while the 
only reasonable course was to minimize these marches; and, 
to this end, all Kutuzof’s efforts were directed throughout the 
Zampaign from Moscow to Vilno, not as a matter of accident 
© caprice, but so consistently that he did not for a moment 
?elax them. 

Kutuzof knew, not by reason or science, but by his whole 
Russian nature,—knew and felt what every Russian soldier 
velt, that the French were conquered, that the enemy were 
unning away, and that it was necessary to escort them; but 
it the same time he felt with his soldiers the burden of a 
‘ampaign unprecedented for the rapidity of the marches and 
-he time of the year. 
| But it seemed to the other generals, especially those who 
vere not Russian, — being anxious to distinguish themselves, 
0 astonish the world, for some reason or other to take some 
| VoL. 4, — 13. 





194 WAR AND PEACE. 


duke or king prisoner, — it seemed to these generals that now, 
when any battle was odious and absurd, it was the very golden 
time to give battle and conquer some one. 

Kutuzof merely shrugged his shoulders when, one after 
another, they laid before him their plans for manceuvres to be 
accomplished by these badly shod, half-famished soldiers, 
without great-coats, who, during a month, had been reduced 
one-half, though they had not fought a battle, and with whom, 
under the most favorable conditions of a prolonged retreat, he 
must go to the frontier, —a distance greater than that already 
traversed. 

This desire to gain personal distinction, to manoeuvre, to 
harass and cut off the enemy, was especially manifested when 
Russian troops encountered French troops. 

That was the case at Krasnoye, where the Russian generals 
thought that they had found one of the three columns of the 
French, and hurled themselves upon Napoleon himself with 
sixteen thousand men. In spite of all the means employed by 
Kutuzof to avoid this destructive engagement and to save his 
troops, for three days an indiscriminate attack on the de- 
moralized mob of the French was kept up by the weary troops 
of the Russian army. , 

Toll wrote out a plan, — “ Die erste Colonne marschirt, The 
frst column will march,” etc., —and, as always happens, 
everything took place contrary to the plan. 

Prince Eugene of Wiirttemberg saw from a hill-top a number 
of French fugitives fleeing past him down the road, and asked 
for re-enforcements, which did not arrive. 

That night the French, managing to avoid the Russians, 
scattered and hid through the woods, and made their way on- 
ward as best they could. 

Miloradovitch, who declared that he eared nothing what- 
ever about the provisioning of his troops, who could never 
be found when he was wanted, —a “chevalier sans peur et sans 
reproche,” as he called himself, —and was fond of talking with. 
the French, sent a flag of truce, offering terms of surrender, 
and lost time and failed to execute the orders intrusted to 
hin. 

“IT make you a present of that column, my children,” he 
said, riding up to his troops, and pointing out the French to 
his cavalry. 

And his troops, mounted upon horses that could barely 
move, urged them with spur and sword-pricks into a trot, and, 
after intense efforts, advanced upon the column which had 


WAR AND PEACE. 195 


been given to them, —in other words, upon a crowd of. be- 
numbed Frenchmen half dead with hunger and cold; and this 
column, which had been given to them, threw down its arms 
and surrendered, —as it long had been wishing to do! 

At Krasnoye they took twenty-six thousand prisoners, and 
_ captured hundreds of cannon anda kind of a stick which they 
called “the marshal’s baton; ” and they quarrelled as to who 
had distinguished themselves, and they were contented with 
this, but much regretted that they had not captured Napoleon 
or some hero, some one of the marshals, and they blamed each 
another, and especially Kutuzof. 

___ These men, carried away by their passions, were only the 
blind agents of the most grievous law of necessity, but they 
considered themselves heroes, and imagined that what they 
had done was a most worthy and noble work. 

They blamed Kutuzof, and declared that ever since the be- 
ginning of the campaign he had prevented them from con- 
‘quering Napoleon, and thought only of his own personal 
pleasures, and that he had been unwilling to leave Polotniani 
-Zavodui because he was comfortable there ; that at Krasnoye 
he stopped the movement because, on learning that N apoleon 
was there, he had lost his presence of mind, and that it was 
quite supposable that he had an understanding with Napoleon, 
‘that he had been bought over, etc.* , 

Because contemporaries, carried away by their passions, 
Spoke thus, Kutuzof is regarded by posterity and history 

(which call Napoleon “ great ””), by foreigners, — only as a sly, 
weak, and debauched old. courtier; by Russians, as an indefi- 
nite sort of person, a puppet useful because of his Russian 
ame. 


CHAPTER V. 


In 1812-1813, Kutuzof was openly accused of serious mis- 
takes. 

The sovereign was displeased with him; and in the history 
of the campaign, written not long since, by imperial orders, + 
tis declared that Kutuzof was a crafty courtier and liar, who 
‘wembied at the name of N apoleon, and who, by his blunders 
‘tt Krasnoye and the Beresina, deprived the Russian troops of 
vhe glory of a complete victory over the French. 


) * Wilson’s Memoir. 


| Tt “ History of the Year 1812,” Bogdanovitch; characteristics of Kutuzof, 
“had dissertation on the unsatisfactory results of the battles at Krasnoye. 


rs 


196 WAR AND PEACE. 


Such is the fate of men who are not great — not grand 
iomme — or, since the Russian intellect never recognizes them, 
such the fate of those rare and always solitary men who, being 
able to comprehend the will of Providence, subordinate their 
own wills to it. | 

The hatred and scorn of the multitude punish these men — 
for their comprehension of the higher laws. 

To Russian historians —a strange and terrible thing to say! 
— Napoleon, that insignificant instrument of history, who 
never anywhere, even in exile, showed human dignity, — Napo- 
leon is the object of admiration and enthusiasm: he is great 
— grand ! | 

Kutuzof, on the other hand, the man who from the begin- 
ning to the end of his active life in 1812, from Borodino to 
Vilno, not once, by a single act or word, proved a traitor to 
himself, but offers an example unique in history, of self- 
sacrifice and present insight into the future significance of an 
event, — Kutuzof is to them something vague and pitiable, and 
when they speak of him and of 1812 they seem to be some- 
what ashamed. 

And yet it is hard to conceive an historical personage whose 
activity was so faithfully and so constantly devoted to a single 
aim. It is hard to imagine an aim more worthy or which 
better coincided with the will of a whole people. 

Sti]] more difficult it would be to discover another example, 
in history, where an aim set by an historical personage was SO 
completely realized as the aim to the attainment of which 
Kutuzof’s whole activity was devoted in 1812. 

Kutuzof never talked about the forty centuries that looked 
down from the Pyramids, of the sacrifices he had made for 
his country, of what he intended to accomplish or had already 
accomplished. | 

As a general thing, he spoke little of himself, never played 
any part, seemed always a most simple and ordinary man, anc 
said only the most simple and the most ordinary things. 

He wrote letters to his daughters and to Madame Stahl,* 
read romances, liked the society of pretty women, jested with 
generals, officers, and soldiers, and never contradicted any body 
who tried to prove anything to him. 

When Count Rostopchin galloped across the Yauza bridge 
up to Kutuzof and loaded him with personal reproaches for 


the loss of Moscow, and said, “ You promised not to give uf 


* De Staél? 


WAR AND PEACE. 197 


Moscow without a battle,” Kutuzof replied, although Moscow 
was already abandoned, — 

“TI shall not give up Moscow without a battle.” 

When Arakcheyef came to him from the sovereign and said 
that Yermolof must be appointed chief of artillery, Kutuzof 

_ replied, although a few moments before he had expressed 
himself quite differently, — 

“Yes. I only just now proposed that myself.” | 

What was it to him, who alone amid the foolish throng 
about him understood all the mighty significance of the event, 
what was it to him whether Count Rostopchin attributed to 
him or any one else the desertion of Moscow ? ’ Still less could 
he be concerned with the question who should be named chief 
of artillery. | 

Not only in these circumstances, but on all occasions, this 
old man, who by experience of life had come to the conviction 
that thoughts, and the words whereby thoughts are expressed, 
do not stir men to action, spoke words absolutely without 

‘Meaning, saying whatever came into his head. 

But this same man, who so scorned speech, never. once, 
throughout the whole period of his activity, uttered a single 
word which would not have agreed with the one object toward 
the attainment of which he moved throughout the course of 
the war. 

__ It was with evident reluctance, with a painful assurance 
that he would not be understood, that again and again in the 
most varied circumstances he expressed his thoughts. 

From the time of the battle of Borodino, when his quarrel 
with those around him began, he alone declared that the battle 
f Borodino was a victory, and he repeated it both orally and in 
us letters, as well as in his reports, till the very end of his life. 
_ He alone declared that the loss of Moscow was not the loss of 
Russia. 

_ He, in reply to Lauriston, who was sent to offer terms of 
yeace, said that peace could not be made, because such was 
Jot the will of the people. 

__He alone, during the retreat of the French, declared that 
jl our maneuvres were uséless, that everything would come out 
fF itself better than we could wish, that it was only necessary to 
-we the enemy the “golden bridge ;” * that neither the battle of 
“arutino, nor that of Krasnoye, nor that of Viazma was neces- 
ary ; thatif they must reach the Srontier, they must have troops ; 


* That is, give them every facility to destroy themselves, 


198 WAR AND PEACE. 


that he would: not sacrifice a single Russian soldier for ten 
Frenchmen. 

And he alone, this deceitful courtier, as he is represented 
to us, this man who to please his sovereign lied to Arak- 
cheyef, he alone, this courtier, at the risk of winning his sov- 
ereign’s ill will, declared, at Vilno, that war beyond the frontier 
would be dangerous and useless. 

But words alone would not prove that he grasped the sig- 
nificance of the event. Huis acts — all without the slightest 
variation — all were directed to one and the same threefold 
object : — 

1. To concentrate all his forces for any encounter with the 
French. : 

2. To vanquish them, and 

3 ‘To drive them from Russia, while alleviating, so far as 
was possible, the sufferings of the people and the troops. 

He, this Kutuzof, the temporizer, whose device was “ pa- 
tience and time,” the enemy of decisive actions, he gives 
battle at Borodino, clothing the preparation for it with un- 
exampled solemnity. 

He, this Kutuzof, who at Austerlitz, before the battle began, 
declares that it will be lost; and at Borodino, in spite of the 
conviction of the generals that it was a defeat, protests up to 
the time of his death that the battle of Borodino was a Vic- 
tory, though the example of an army winning a victory, but 
being obliged to retreat, was unheard of in history, — he alone, 
during all the time of the retreat, insists upon refraining 
from further battles, since they were now useless — from 
beginning a new war, and from crossing the frontier. 

It is easy at the present time to comprehend the signifi- 
eance of the event, provided we do not concern ourselves with 
the mass of plans fermenting in the heads of a dozen men, 
since the great event, with all its consequences, lies before us. 

But how was it that at that time this old man, alone, against 
the opinions of many, was able to divine so accurately the 
significance of the national impression of the event, that he did 
not once through his whole activity prove false to it ? 

This extraordinary power of insight into the import of the 
events accomplishing had its source in that national sentiment 
which he carried in his heart in all its purity and vigor. 

Only the recognition of this sentiment in Kutuzof compelled 
the people by such strange paths to choose this old man, in 
disgrace as he was, against the will of the sovereign, to be 
their representative in the national war. : 


WAR AND PEACE. 199 


And only this sentiment elevated Kutuzof to the high pinna-— 
cle of humanity from which he, the general-in-chief, employed 
all his efforts, not to kill and. exterminate men, but to save 
and have pity upon them. 

This simple, modest, and therefore truly grand figure could 
_ not be cast in the counterfeit mould employed by history for 
_ the European hero who is supposed to govern the nations. 

For the valet there can be no great man, because the valet 
has his own conception of greatness. 


CHAPTER VI. 


THE seventeenth of November was the first day of the so- 
called battle of Krasnoye. Before dark, when after many 
disputes and blunders caused by generals who did not reach 
_ the places where they should have been, after much galloping 
about of adjutants with commands and counter-commands, 
_ when it was already self-evident that the enemy were every- 
where running away, and that a battle could not and would 
not take place, Kutuzof set forth from Krasnoye and rode to 
Dobroye, where headquarters had been established that same 
day. 

The day was clear and frosty. Kutuzof, with a big suite of 
generals most of whom were dissatisfied with him and were 
whispering behind his back, rode to Dobroye, mounted on his 
stout white cob. 

The road all along was crowded with a party of French 
prisoners captured that day —seven thousand of them had 
been taken — who were trying to warm themselves around the 
bivouac fires. 
Not far from Dobroye a huge throng of ragged prisoners, 
wearing whatever they happened to have laid their hands on, 
were loudly talking, as they stood in the road near a long row 
of unlimbered cannon. 

As the commander-in-chief approached, the talking quieted 
down, and all eyes were fixed on Kutuzof, who, in his white 
hat with red band, and wadded capote hunched upon his 
stooping shoulders, slowly moved along the road. One of the 
_ generals reported to Kutuzof where the prisoners and cannon 
had been captured. 

Kutuzof seemed pre-occupied and did not hear the general’s 
/ words. He involuntarily blinked his eyes, and kept gazing 
attentively and fixedly at the figures of the prisoners, who 


200 WAR AND PEACE. 


presented a particularly melancholy spectacle. The most of 
the French soldiers were maimed, with frost-bitten noses and 
cheeks, and almost all of them had red, swollen, and mattery 
eyes. One clump of the French were near the roadside, and 
two soldiers —the face of one was covered by scars — were 
tearing a piece of raw meat. There was something terrible 
' and bestial in the wild glances which they cast on the new- 
comers and in the ugly expression with which the scarred 
soldier, after gazing at Kutuzof, immediately turned away 
and went on with his operations. 

Kutuzof gazed long and attentively at these two soldiers ; 
frowning still more portentously, he blinked his eyes and 
thoughtfully shook his head. 

In another place he observed a Russian soldier, who, with 
a laugh, gave a Frenchman a slap on the shoulder and made 
some friendly remark to him. Kutuzof, again with the same 
expression, shook his head. 

“What were you saying?” he demanded of the general 
who had gone on with his report and was calling the com- 
mander-in-chief’s attention to the captured French colors that 
were bunched in front of the Preobrazhensky regiment. 

“Oh, the colors,” said Kutuzof, finding it evidently hard to 
turn his mind from the object that attracted his attention. 
He looked around absent-mindedly. Thousands of eyes, from 
every side, looked at him, expecting his reply. 

He reined in his horse in front of the Preobrazhensky regi- 
ment, drew a heavy sigh, and closed his eyes. One of the 
suite made a signal to the soldiers who had charge of the 
standards to advance and group the flagstaffs around the com- 
mander-in-chief. 

Kutuzof said nothing for some seconds; and then, with evi- 
dent reluctance, yielding to the necessity of his position, 
raised his head and began to speak. 

The officers gathered around him in throngs. With an 
attentive glance he surveyed the circle of officers, some of 
whom he recognized. . 

“T thank you all,” he said, addressing the soldiers and then 
the officers again. In the silence which reigned around him 
his slowly spoken words were perfectly distinct. “1 thank 
you all for your hard and faithful service. The victory 1s 
complete, and Russia will not forget you. Your glory will be 
eternal.” 

He was silent and looked around. 

“Bend down, bend down his head!” said he to the soldier 


WAR AND PEACE. 201 


who held the French eagle and had unexpectedly inclined it 
toward the Preobrazhensky standard. “Lower, lower still, — 
that’s the way. Hurrah, children!” he cried, with a quick 
movement of his chin, turning to the soldiers. 
“ Hurrah, rah-rah!” roared forth from thousands of voices. 
While the soldiers were cheering, Kutuzof bent down to his 
saddle, inclined his head, and his eyes gleamed with a gentle, 


_ perceptibly ironical gleam. 


“Well, boys!” * he began when the cheering had ceased. 

And suddenly his voice and the expression of his face 
changed; it was no longer the commander-in-chief who spoke, 
but simply an old man, who evidently had something of im- 
portance to communicate to his companions in arms. 

Through the crowd of officers and the ranks of the soldiers 


ran a stir, as they pressed forward to hear more distinctly 


what he should now have to say :— 
“Well, boys! I know it’s hard for you, but what’s to be 


done? Have patience; it is not for long. When we have 


— 


escorted our guests out of the country we will rest. The tsar 
will not forget your labors, will not forget you. It is hard 
for you, but you are at home all this time, while they — see © 
what they have come to,” said he, indicating the prisoners, — 
“worse than the lowest beggars. While they were strong we 
had no pity on them, but now we may pity them. ‘They, too, 
are men. Isn’t that so, children ?” 

He glanced around him, and in the earnest, respectfully 
perplexed glances fixed upon him he read their sympathy in 
what he had said. His face was constantly more and more 
illumined by the benevolent smile of old age, by the star-like 
lines irradiating from the corners of his mouth and eyes. 

He remained silent for a little, and in seeming perplexity 


dropped his head. 


“Of course it may be said, who anced them to come to 
us? They deserve it, by ” said he, suddenly raising his 
head. And, cracking ‘his whip, he rode off at a gallop, for the 
first time in the whole campaign followed by roars of laugh- 
ter and a terrific hurrah ringing down the long lines of the 
soldiers as they broke ranks. 

The words spoken by Kutuzof could have been scarcely 
understood by the troops. No one would have been able to 





' report accurately, either the solemn words which the field- 


marshal had spoken first, or the kindly simplicity of the old 


man’s words at the last; but not only was the tone of sincerity 
* Bratsui, brothers. 


202 WAR AND PEACE. 


that rang through the whole speech comprehensible, but that 
peculiar sense of majestic solemnity in union with compassion 
for their enemies, and with the feeling of the righteousness 
of their cause, expressed, if in nothing else, in that old-fash- 
ioned, good-natured execration, this feeling found an echo in 
every man’s breast, and found utterance in that joyful, long 
undying shout. 

When afterwards one of the generals came and asked 
Kutuzof if he would not prefer to ride in his calash, in his 
reply he unexpectedly broke into sobs, evidently being over- 
come by the greatest emotion. 


CHAPTER VII. 


On the twentieth of November, the last day of the battles 
of Krasnoye, it was already twilight when the troops reached 
their halting-place for the night. 'The whole day had been 
calm and cold with an occasional light fall of snow. Toward 
evening it had begun to clear off. Even while the last flakes 
were falling the dark purple starry sky could be seen and the 
cold grew more intense. 

A regiment of musketeers, which had left Tarutino three 
thousand strong, and now mustered nine hundred, was one of 
the first to reach the place of bivouac, —a village on the high- 
road. 

The billeters, who met the regiment, explained that all the 
cottages were occupied by sick and dying Frenehmen, cavalry- 
men, and staff officers. There was only one izba for the regi- 
mental commander. s 

The regimental commander went to his quarters. The regi- 
ment marched through the village and stacked their arms near 
the last houses on the high-road. 

Like a monstrous many-limbed animal, the regiment at once 
set to work to provide for itself a lair and food. One squad 
of the men, ploughing through snow above their knees, went 
toa birch grove, at the right of the road, and immediately 
from the grove were heard the sounds of axes, cutlasses, the 
crashing of falling limbs, and gay voices. 

A second detachment were gathered around the place where 
the regiment’s carts and horses were drawn up, noisily busy in 
getting out kettles and hardtack and in foddering the horses. 

A third detachment were scattered through the village, pre- 
paring quarters for the staff officers, clearing away the dead 


WAR AND PEACE. 203 


bodies of the French that lay in the izbas, and dragging off 
beams, dry wood, and straw from the roofs for their fires, and 
wattled hedges for shelter.. A dozen or more soldiers behind 
a row of cottages at the extreme edge of the village, with a 
jocund shout, were pulling at the high wattling of a shed from 


_ which the roof had already been torn. 


“Now then! once more, all together!” cried the voices, and 


under the darkness of the night the fabric of the hedge, ladén . 


| ¢ 


with snow, rocked with a frosty, crackling sound. 

The lower posts gave way more and more, and at last the 
wattling started to give way, taking with it the soldiers who 
were pushing against it. There were heard loud, coarse shouts 
and laughter. 

“Took out there, you two!” — “Give the hand-spike * 
here!” 

“ There, that’s the way !” ' 

“What are you climbing up there for ? ” 

“Now, all together. Now wait, boys !— With a chorus!” 

All became silent, and a mellow, velvety, sweet voice struck 


| up the song. At the end of the third stanza, as the last note 


died away, a score of voices took up the refrain in unison, — 

«U—u—u—u! idydt! Razom! Navdlis dyétki!” — 
“She falls! once more—a long pull and a strong. pull, 
boys!” 

But, in spite of their united efforts, the wattling gave but 
little, and in the silence that ensued was heard their heavy 
breathing. 

“Ho there, Company Six! Fiends! Devils! Lend a hand! 
We’ll do as much for you some day !” 

A score of men from Company Six, who were passing 
through the village, joined forces with the others, and the 
wattling, five sazhens long and a sazhen, or seven feet, wide, 
bending under its own weight, and crushing and bruising the 
shoulders of the panting soldiers who carried it, moved along 
the village street. ‘Keep step there !— There you are stum- 
bling! Can’t you keep your balance ?” 

There was no éessation of the jovial though sometimes 


- coarse objurgation. 


| 


“What is the matter with you?” suddenly rang out the 
imperious voice of a soldier, who came hastening toward 
them. ; 

“There are gentlemen here! The anaral, himself, is in 


* The speaker,a man from Tula perhaps, says rotchag instead of ruitchdg. 


204 WAR AND PEACE. 


that izbé, but you are devils, fiends incarnate, foul-mouthed 
wretches! I’ll give it to you!” yelled the sergeant, and, with 
all his might, he struck the first soldier he encountered a blow 
on the back. “Can’t you keep quiet ?” 

The soldiers ceased their noise. The soldier who had been 
struck grunted, and began to rub his face, which was covered 
with blood from being knocked head first into the wattled 
branches of the hedge, which had lacerated it. 

“The devil! How he made me smart for it! See how it 
made my whole mug bleed!” said he, in a timid whisper, 
when the sergeant had gone back. 

“And so you don’t like it!” said a mocking voice, and, 
moderating their tones, the soldiers went on their way. When 
once they were beyond the village, they once more began to 
talk as loud as ever, punctuating their conversation with the 
same aimless objurgations. | 

In the cottage by which the soldiers had been passing were 
collected some of the higher officers, and, as they drank their 
tea, the conversation waxed lively over the events of the past 
day and the proposed manceuvres of the following day. It 
was proposed to make a flank march to the left, to cut off the 
viceroy and take him prisoner. 

When the soldiers brought in the wattled hedge, already in 
various directions the fires for cooking were merrily burning. 
The wood was snapping, the snow melted, and the dark 
shadows of soldiers were moving up and down over the whole 
space, trampling down the snow. | 

Axes and cutlasses were busy at work in various directions. 
Everything was done without special orders. Wood was 
brought for the night supply ; wigwams were prepared for the 
officers, kettles were set to boiling, arms and ammunition were 
put into order. 

The hedge brought in by the men of the Eighth Company 
was set up in the form of a semicircular screem toward the 
north, and propped up with stakes while the fire was kindled 
under its shelter. The drums beat the tattoo, the roll was 
called, the men took their supper and disposed themselves for 
the night around the bivouac fires —one repairing his foot- 
gear, another smoking his pipe, another (stripped to the skin) 
roasting his lice! 





WAR AND PEACE. 205 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Tr would seem as if in those almost unimaginably difficult 


' eonditions of existence in which the Russian soldiers were 


brought at this time, lacking warm boots, lacking overcoats, 


/ without shelter over their heads, in the snow with the tem- 


perature at eighteen degrees below zero, lacking a sufficiency 
of provisions, which frequently failed to arrive,—it would 
seem as if these soldiers might by good rights have presented 


_a most pitiable and melancholy spectacle. 


On the contrary, never, even in the very most favorable 


material conditions, did the army present a more gay and ani- 


mated spectacle. It was due to the fact that each day the 
army lost out of its ranks all those who began to show signs 


of weakness or depression, all who were physically or morally 
feeble had long since been left behind; the very flower of the 


army remained — through strength of spirit and of body. 

The Eighth Company, who had set up the shelter of the wat- 
tling, had more than its share of men. Two sergeant-majors 
had come behind it, and their fire blazed up brighter than any 
of the others. — They demanded in exchange for the right to 
sit behind the shelter an offering of firewood. 

“Hey, Makayef! what’s the matter with you? Did you 


get lost, or did the wolves eat you? Bring us some wood,” 


eried one, a rubicund-faced, red-haired soldier, scowling and 
winking from the smoke, but not offering to stir from the 
fire. “Come here, you crow, bring us some wood,” cried this 


- soldier, addressing another. 


The red-headed man was neither a non-commissioned officer 


-nor a corporal, but was simply a sound, healthy private, 


| he. 


( 


and therefore he ordered around those who were weaker than 


A thin little soldier with a sharp nose, the one they called 
“ Crow,’”’ — Voréna, — submissively got up and started to 
obey the command; but at this time the firelight fell on the 
slender, graceful figure of a soldier lugging an armful of 
fagots. ; 

‘‘ Give it here, that’s first-rate.” 

The wood was broken up and thrown on, and the men blew 
it with their mouths and fanned it with their coat-tails, and 
the flame began to hiss and crackle. The soldiers, gathering 
closer, lighted their pipes. —The handsome young soldier whe. 


206 WAR AND PEACE. 


had brought the fagots put his arms akimbo and began 
swiftly and skilfully to dance a shuffle where he stood to 
warm his frozen feet. 


“* Akh, mdmenka, 
kholddnaya rosé 
Da khorosha — 
Daf mushkatera.* 


‘But the musketeer,” he added, apparently hiccoughing at 
every syllable of the song. 

“ Hey, there, your soles are flying off,” cried the red-haired 
man, observing that one of the young soldier’s soles was hang- 
ing loose. “It’s poison to dance.” 

The dancer paused, tore off the loose tet and flung it 
into the fire. 

“That’s so, brother,” said he, and, sitting Een he got out 
of his knapsack a piece of blue French cloth and proceeded to 
wrap it around his foot and leg.. “It will do for a pair,” he 
added, stretching his feet out toward the fire. “ We’ll soon 
have new ones. They say, when we’ve killed ’em all off, we’ll 
have enough for a couple of pairs.” 

“But, say, did you see that son of a dog Petrof? He 
straggled behind, didn’t he?” asked one of the sergeant- 

majors. 

“T saw him some time ago,” said another. 

“So, then, the soldier boy ” — 

“They say that in the Third Company yesterday nine men 
missed roll-eall.” 

“Well, but how’s aman to walk when his feet are frozen 
off, tell me that!” 

“Eh, it’s idle to talk about it,” said the sergeant-major. 

“Well, how would you like it?” asked an old soldier re- 
proachfully, addressing the one who had spoken about feet 
being frozen off. 

““What’s your idea about it?” suddenly getting up from 
the farther side of the fire, cried, in a shrill, trembling voice, 
the sharp-nosed soldier whom they called Voréna, the crow. 
“The fat grows lean, and. lean ones has to die. That’s my 
case. My strength’s all gone,” said he, suddenly taking a 
resolute tone and addressing the sergeant-major. ‘ Have me 
sent to the hospital. The rheumatiz has got the upper hand 
o’ me. And, besides, what difference does it make?” 


* “ Ah, dear little mother, cold is the dew, but the musketeer ” — 











Se” aera “eee CU 
me Co ee 


WAR AND PEACE. 207 


«There, now, that’ll do, that’ll do,” said the sergeant-major 
calmly. 

The little soldier relapsed into silence, and the general 
conversation went on. 

“To-day they took a good number of these Frenchmen, but, 
as for boots, it’s safe to say not one had any good for any- 


thing — not one worthy of the name,” began one of the sol- 


4 


diers, with the purpose of starting a new subject. 

“The Cossacks got all their boots. When they cleaned out 
the izba for the colonel, they dragged ’em out. It was.a pity 
to see, boys,” said the dancer. “How they flung them 


around. One was so alive that, would you believe it, he 


muttered something in his own language! A wonderful 
people.” | 

«“They’re a clean people, boys,” said the first. “White as 
a white birch, and some fine fellows among them, I tell you, — 


~ noblemen.” 


“Well, why shouldn’t there be? They’ve recruited all 
sorts.” : 

“But they can’t talk with us in our language,” said the 
dancer with a smile of: perplexity. “I say to one of ’em, 
‘Under what crown —chéi korénui?’ and he talks back in his 
own gibberish. A wonderful people!” 

«“There’s something odd about it, brothers,” pursued the 
one who had been amazed at the whiteness of their skins, 
“the peasants told me at Mozhaisk that when they started to 
clear up the dead where the battle was and where their bodies 
had been laying most a month, and what do you think, says 
he, theirs was as white as white paper and just as clean, and 
there wasn’t the slightest bit of smell about them.” 

“Well, don’t you suppose twas from the cold?” suggested 
one man. 

“Well, you are smart! From the cold! Why, it was hot 
weather. Besides, if it had been from the freezing, then ours 
wouldn’t have spoiled either. But no, says he, when they 
came to one of ours, he’d be all eaten up with worms, says he. 
And so, says he, we had to put a handkerchief round our 
noses and turn away our heads and get ’em off —couldn’t 
stand it. But theirs, says he, was like white paper ; and not 
a grain of smell about ’em.” 

All were silent. 

“Must be from their victuals,” said the sergeant-major. 
“They feed like gentlemen.” 

No one replied to this. 


208 WAR AND PEACE. 


“This muzhik told me at Mozhaisk that they came out 
from a dozen villages and worked twenty days carting ’em 
off, and didn’t get the job done even then — the dead, I mean 
— The wolves too, says he”? — 

“That battle amounted to something,” said an old soldier. 
“That was a thing to remember; but those since, why, they’ve 
been nothing but a torment to the boys.” 

“Well, little uncle, day before yesterday, we gave it to 
‘em. But they won’t let us catch up with ’em. ‘They’ve been 
threwing down their muskets lively. Down on their knees! 
‘Pardon,’ they say. Now take one example. Platof twice 
took ’Poleou himself. He did not know a word aboutit. He 
gets him, gets him. That’s the way, has the bird in his hands, 
lets him go — and off he flies, off he flies. And so no chance 
to kill him.” 

“What a healthy liar you are, Kiselef. I’m looking at 

ou.”’ : 
sie Why lar? Honest truth!” 

“Tf I’d had the chance, I’d given it to him. I’d knocked 
him down with an aspen cudgel. See how he’s ruined us.” 

“We'll do it before we get through. No way of his escap- 
ing,” said the old soldier, yawning. . 

The conversation died away: the soldiers began to get ready 
for the night. 

“ Just see the stars, terrible lot of them! One would say 
the women. had been spreading out clothes,” said a soldier, 
pointing to the Milky Way. 

“Signs of a good year, boys.” 

“ Will any more fuel be needed ? ” . 

‘My back’s scorching, but my belly’s frozen. Queer things 
happen.” 

“Q Lord” — 

“What are you jabbering about? Are you the only one, 
pray, that’s burning? There —stretch yourself out.” 

Amid the gradually established silence was heard the snor- 
ing of several sleepers; the rest kept turning from side to 
side in their efforts to keep warm, and occasionally uttered 
exclamations. | 

From a bivouac tire a hundred paces distant was heard a 
burst of jovial, good-natured laughter. 

“Hark! What a noise they’re making in the Fifth Com- 
pany,” said one soldier. “ And what a terrible lot of men!” 

One soldier got up and went over to Company Five. 

“Great fun!” said he, when he came back, They’ye got 


WAR AND PEACE. 209 
a couple of Frenchmen: * one’s half frozen; but t’other one’s 
lively enough. He’s singing.” 
“Q-o? let’s go and see!” 
Several of the soldiers went over to Company Five. 


CHAPTER IX. 


Tur Fifth Company were stationed near the grove. A huge 


‘bivouac fire was brightly blazing in the. midst of the snow, 
-easting its light on the branches of the trees, weighed down 
_ with their burden of frost. 


In the midst of the night the soldiers of Company Five 


had heard steps in the snow, and the cracking of dry branches 


in the forest. 
“Boys, a bear!” ¢ cried one soldier. 
All raised their heads and listened; and forth from the 


forest, into the bright light of the fire, pushed two human 


forms, strangely clad and holding by each other’s hands. 

They were two Frenchmen, who had hidden in the forest. 
Hoarsely speaking something in a tongue unknown to the 
soldiers, they approached the fire. 

One was tall and wore an ofticer’s hat, and seemed perfectly 
fagged. Approaching the fire, he tried to sit down, but fell 
flat. 


The other, a small, dumpy private, with his ears tied up in 
a handkerchief, was stronger. He lifted his comrade, and, 
pointing to his mouth, said something. 

The soldiers gathered around the Frenchman, spread down 


a cloak for the sick one, and gave them both kasha-gruel and 


vodka. 
The enfeebled French officer was Ramball; the one with 
the handkerchief tied around his ears was his servant Morel. 
When Morel had drunk the vodka and eaten a small kettle 


of kasha, he suddenly grew painfully jolly, and kept talking 


, 


| 


‘ 





all the time, though the soldiers could not understand a word 
he said. 

Ramball refused the food, and lay silently leaning on his 
elbow by the fire, with dull red eyes, staring at the Russians. 
Occasionally he uttered a long, low groan, and then relapsed 
into silence. 


* Khrantsisa. 
+ Rebydta, vyedméd’! The speaker is from Southern Russia, and says 
vyedméd’ for medvyéa’. 
VOL. 4. — 14. 


210 WAR AND PEACE. 


Morel, pointing to his shoulders, made the soldiers under- 
stand that he was an officer, and that he needed to be warmed. 

A Russian officer who came up to the bivouac fire sent to 
ask the colonel if he would not take in a French officer; and 
when the messenger said that the colonel ordered the officer 
to be brought to him, Ramball was invited to go. 

He got up and tried to walk, but tottered, and would have 
fallen if a soldier who happened to be standing near had not 
supported him. 

“What? Can’t you come it?” asked one soldier, turning 
to Ramball with a wink and a grin. 

“Oh, you idiot! durak !””— “Can’t you have some decency ?” - 
— “What a muzhik! Truly a muzhik!” were heard in 
accents of reproach to the jesting soldier. 

They gathered round Ramball; two of them lifted him up 
in their arms and bore him to the izbé. He threw his arms 
around their necks and kept repeating in piteous tones: — 
“Oh! mes braves, oh mes bons, mes bons amis! Voila des 
hommes! oh mes braves, mes bons amis!” and like a child 
rested his head on the shoulder of one of the soldiers. 

Meantime Morel sat in the seat of honor, surrounded by 
the soldiers. 

Morel, a little squat Frenchman, with inflamed, teary eyes, 
with a woman’s handkerchief tied over his cap, was dressed 
in a woman’s shabby sheepskin shubyénka. The vodka had 
evidently gone to his head, and he, while holding the hand of 
the soldier who sat next him, was singing, in a hoarse, broken 
voice, a French song. 

The soldiers held their sides as they looked at him. 

“Now then, now then, teach us that. How does it go? 
V’ll catch it in a moment. How is it?” asked the jester, 
who was a singer, and whose hand Morel had seized. 


“ Vive Henri Quatre! 
Vive ce roi vaillant!” 


sang Morel, winking one eye. 
‘“*Ce diable a quatre! ...* 
“Vwarika Vif seruvaru! Sidiobliakaé!” repeated the sol- 
dier, beating time with his hand, and actually catching the 


tune. “See how clever! ho!—ho!—ho!—ho!—ho!” 


* “Live Henry IV. ! Long live the gallant king,” etc. (French song.) . 


WAR AND PEACE. 211 


arose the coarse, jocund laughter from every side. Morel, 
frowning, laughed also. 
“Well, give us some more, more!” 


“* Qui eut le triple talent 
De boire, de battre, 
Et @ étre-un vert galant !”’ * 


“Now that goes well, too!” — “ Now, then, Zaletayef !” 

“ Kiu/” repeated Zaletayef, with a will, — “kiw— iu — 
iu”? —he dwelt on the diphthong, trying to stick out his 
lips, — “letriptala de bu de ba i detravagala,” he sang. 

“ Ai! splendid! -He’s a reai Frenchy !” 

“Oi!—ho! ho! ho! ho!”—*“Don’t you want something 
more to eat?” 

“Give him some more kasha! It’ll take some time to fill 
ap his hunger.” 

They gave him another bow] of the gruel, and then Morel, 


laughing, took still a third. Jovial smiles broadened the faces 
_of all the young soldiers as they looked at Morel. The old 


veterans, counting it unseemly to descend to such trivialities, 


lay on the other side of the fire, but occasionally raised them- 
selves on their elbows and stared at Morel. 

“They’re men like us,” said one of them, as he wrapped 
himself up in his cloak. “ Even wormwood has roots to grow 
by.” — “Oo! Lord! Lord! What'a terrible lot of stars! It’s 
going to be a cold night.” 

And all grew silent again. 

The stars, as though knowing that now no one was looking 
at them, played merrily in the dark sky. Now flashing out, 
now dying down again, now twinkling, they seemed to be 
busily engaged in communing among themselves concerning 
something pleasant but mysterious. 


CHAPTER X. 


_ Tue French troops melted away in a regular mathematical 
progression. 

Even this passage of the Beresina, about which so much has 
been written, was only one of the intermediate steps in the 
destruction of the French army, and not at all a decisive epi- 
sode of the campaign. 


* “Who had the threefold talent of drinking, of fighting, and of being 


_ loved.”’ 


212 WAR AND PEACE. 


Tf so much has been written and still is written about the 
Beresina, it is, so far as concerns the French, simply because 
the misfortunes which the French army had, up to that time, 
endured coming steadily, here suddenly accumulated in one 
moment at the broken bridge on the river — one tragic disas- 
ter, which remained in the memory of all. 

On the part of the Russians much has been talked and 
written about the Beresina, simply because at Petersburg, far 
away from the theatre of war, a plan was made (by Pfuhl) for 
drawing Napoleon into a strategical snare on the river Beresina. 

All were persuaded that everything would be carried out in 
conformity with the plan, and therefore they insisted that 
the passage of the Beresina was the destruction of the French. 

In reality, the results of the passage of the Beresina were 
far less disastrous to the French in loss of artillery and prison- 
ers than the battle of Krasnoye, as is proved by statistics. 

The sole significance of the passage of the Beresina hes in 
this, that it proved beyond a doubt the absurdity of all plans 
for cutting off the retreat of the French, and the correctness 
of the only feasible operation, that demanded by Kutuzof 
and all the troops (as a whole), —the idea of simply pursuing 
the enemy. ) 

The throngs of the French hurried on with constantly in- 
creasing velocity, with all their energies concentrated upon 
reaching their goal. They fled like a wounded animal, and it 
was impossible to stop them in their course. 

This is proved not so much by the arrangements made for 
the passage as by what occurred at the bridges. 

When the bridges were destroyed, — soldiers without 
weapons, natives of Moscow, women and children, who were 
in convoy of the French, all carried away by the force of 
inertia, instead of giving themselves up, pushed on, throwing 
themselves into the boats or into the icy waters. 

This impetus was a matter of course. 

The situation of the fugitives and of the pursuers was 
equally bad. Each one being in company with his fellows 
in misfortune had hope of their help from the definite place 
which he held among his fellows. 

If he surrendered to the Russians, he would be in the same 
condition of wretchedness, would indeed be far worse off as 
far as all the requirements of living were concerned. 

The French did not need exact information of the fact that 
half of the prisoners whom the Russians did not know what 
to do with, in spite of their desires to save them, had died 
of hunger and starvation. 5 


| 


WAR AND PEACE. — 213 


The most compassionate Russian generals, those well dis- 
posed toward the French, Frenchmen in the Russian service, 
could do nothing for the prisoners. The French perished of 
the miseries which attended the Russian army. 

It was an impossibility to take from their famished soldiers 
bread and clothes in order to give them to the French, how- 
ever inoffensive, friendly, and even innocent they might be. 

A few even did this, but they were only exceptions. 

Behind the French was certain destruction; before them 
was hope. They had burned their ships, there was no other 
safety than in associated flight ; and upon this associated flight 
all the energies of the French were concentrated. 

The farther the French fled and the more pitiable the condi- 


tion of their remnants became, especially after the Beresina, — 


on which, in consequence of the Petersburg plan, especial 
hopes were rested, —the more frantically excited waxed the 
passions of the Russian generals, who indulged in recrimina- 


_ tions of each other and especially of Kutuzof. 


Taking for granted that the failure of the Petersburg plan 
at the Beresina would be attributed to him, their discontent 
with him, their scorn of him, and their sarcasms at his ex- 
pense were sexpressed with greater and greater violence. 
Their sarcasms and scorn, of course, were couched under the 
form of respect, so that Kutuzof could not demand in what 
way and why he was blamed. 

They never talked with him seriously; while making their 
reports to him and asking his advice, they affected to conform 
with the gravest ceremony, but behind his back they winked at 
each other and at every step tried to deceive him. 

All these men, from the very reason that they could not 
understand him, were convinced that there was nothing to be 
said to this old man, that he would never penetrate into -all 
the wisdom of their plans, that he would simply repeat his 
phrases — it seemed to them they were nothing but phrases — 
about “the golden bridge,” and that he could not think of 
crossing the border with a troop of vagabonds. 

This was all that he had ever been heard to say. And all 
that he said, — for example, that it was necessary to wait for 
provisions, that the men were unprovided with boots, — all this 
was so simple, and all that they proposed was so complicated 
and deep, that it was a self-evident truth for them that he was 
stupid and old, and they were the commanders of genius, who 
were only lacking in power. 

Especially after that brilliant admiral and hero, Wittgem 


214 WAR AND PEACE. 


stein, from Petersburg, joined the army, this disposition and 
this disaffection reached its height. Kutuzof saw it, and, sigh- 
ing, simply shrugged his shoulders. But one time — after the 
Beresina — he lost his temper, and wrote the following note 
to Wittgenstein, who had made a special report to the sovy- 
ereign. 


‘Owing to your severe attacks of illness, your excellency * will be kind 
enough on receipt of this to retire to Kaluga, where you will await his 
imperial majesty’s further commands and orders.”’ 


But after the retirement of Benigsen came the Grand Duke 
Konstantin Pavlovitch, who had been present at the begin- 
ning of the campaign and had been removed from Kutuzot’s 
army. Now the grand duke, on reaching the army, assured 
Kutuzof of the dissatisfaction of his majesty the emperor at 
the insufficient successes of our troops and the slowness of 
our movements, and informed him that his majesty the 
emperor, himself, intended shortly to be present with the 
army. 

This old man, who was no less experienced in the affairs 
of courts than in affairs military, this Kutuzof, who had been 
appointed commander-in-chief the previous Arfgust against 
the sovereign’s- will, this man who sent the heir-apparent 
and the grand duke away from the army, who by the power 
invested in him had signed the abandonment of Moscow, this 
same Kutuzof now instantly realized that his time was come, 
that his part was played, and that the semblance of power 
which he had held was his no more. ~ 

And not by his court instinct alone did he realize this. On 
the one hand, he saw that the war in which he had played his 
part was ended, and he felt that his calling was fulfilled. On 
the other hand, at the same time, he began to feel physical 
weariness in his old frame and the absolute need of physical 
rest. 

Kutuzof, on the eleventh of December, arrived at Vilno — 
“his good Vilno,” as he called it. Twice during his career 
Kutuzof had been governor of Vilno. In the rich city, which 
had not suffered from the devastation of war, Kutuzof found, 
besides the amenities of life, of which he had been deprived 
so long, old friends and pleasant recollections. And suddenly, 
casting off all military and governmental cares, he plunged 
into this calm, equable life so far as he was allowed to do so 
by the passions seething around him, as though all that was 


* Vashe vuisokoprevoskhodityelstvo. 


WAR AND PEACE. 915 


occurring and about to occur in the historical world concerned 
him not. 

Chitchagof, one of the most disaffected and volatile of men, 
— Chitchagof, who had at first been anxious to make a diver- 
sion into Greece and afterwards against Warsaw, though he 
was never willing to go where he was sent, — Chitchagof, who 
_was famous for his audacious speech to the sovereign, — Chi- 
tchagof, who considered himself Kutuzof’s benefactor, because 
when, in 1811, he had been sent to conclude peace with Turkey, 
without Kutuzof’s knowledge, he, on discovering that the 
peace was already concluded, acknowledged before the sover- 
_ eign that the credit of concluding the peace belonged to Kutu- 
zof,—this same Chitchagof was the first to meet Kutuzof 
at the castle of Vilno, where Kutuzof was to be lodged. 
Chitchagof, in naval undress uniform, holding his forage cap 
under his arm, gave Kutuzof his report and handed him the 
keys of the city. 

That scornfully respectful demeanor of the young to Kutu- 
zof, who was regarded as in his dotage, was shown in the 
highest degree in all the behavior of Chitchagof, who knew of 
the charges made against his senior. 

While engaged in conversation with Chitchagof, he told him, 
among other things, that the carriages with plate which had 
been captured from him at Borisovo were safe and would be 
restored to him. 

“ You wish to inform me that I have nothing to eat on. — 
On the contrary, I can furnish you with everything even in 
case you should wish to give dinner-parties,” * replied Chi- 
tchagof angrily, in every word that he spoke wishing to prove 
his correctness of style, and therefore supposing that Kutuzof 
was occupied with the same. 

Kutuzof smiled his peculiar, shrewd smile, and, shrugging 
his shoulders, replied, “ Ce n’est que pour dire ce que je vous 
dis,” — “It was only to tell you that I told you.” 

Kutuzof, contrary to the sovereign’s wish, kept the larger 
part of the army at Vilno. Kutuzof, according to those who 
had most to do with him, was greatly shaken and was very 
weak physically during his stay at Vilno. It was with a 
very bad grace that he occupied himself with military affairs; » 
he intrusted everything to his generals, and, while waiting for 
the sovereign, gave himself up to a life of dissipation. 


_ * “ Mest pour me dire que je n'ai pas sur quoi manger .. . Je puis au con- 
traire vous fournir de tout dans le cas meme ou vous voudriez donner des 
diners.” , 


216 WAR AND PEACE. 


When, on the twenty-third of December, the sovereign wita 
his suite, — Count Tolstoi, Prince Volkonsky, Arakcheyef, and 
others, — after a four days’ journey from Petersburg, reached 
Vilno, he drove in his travelling sledge directly to the castie. 
In spite of the severe cold, a hundred generals and staff offi- 
cers, in full-diess uniform, and the guard of honor of the 
Semyonovsky regiment, were waiting at the castle. 

_ A courier, dashing up to the castle in a sledge drawn by a 
sweaty tréika, cried, “He’s coming!” Konoynitsuin hurried 
into the vestibule to inform Kutuzof, who was expecting him 
in the small room of the concierge. 

At the end of a moment the old general’s stout, portly form, 
in full-dress uniform, his full regalia covering his chest, and 
with a scarf tied around his abdomen, came tottering and 
swaying to the head of the stairs. Kutuzof put his three- 
cornered hat on, point front, took his gloves in his hand, and, 
letting himself painfully, toilsomely sideways down the steps, 
stepped forth and took in his hand the report which had been 
prepared to give to the sovereign. 

There was a running to and fro, a sound of hurried talking, 
another tréika came unexpectedly flying by, and all eyes were 
fixed on a sledge that came flying along, in which could be 
already seen the figures of the sovereign and Volkonsky. 

All this had its physically exciting effect on the old general, 
though he had been used to it for half a century. Witha 
hasty, nervous movement he adjusted his decorations and 
straightened his hat, and the instant that the sovereign, step- 
ping out of the sledge, raised his eyes to him, taking ‘courage 
and lifting himself up to his full height, he handed him 
the report and began to speak in his measured, ingratiating 
voice. 

The sovereign, with a swift glance, measured Kutuzof from 
head to feet, frowned for an instant, but, instantly mastering 
himself, stepped forward, and, stretching out his arms, embraced 
_ the old general. 

Once more, owing to the old familiar impression and to the 
thoughts that came surging into his mind, this embrace had 
its usual effect upon Kutuzof: he sobbed. 

The sovereign greeted the officers and the Semyonovsky 
Guard, and, having once more shaken hands with the old 
general, he went with him into the castle. 

After the sovereign was left alone with his field-marshal, 
he freely expressed his dissatisfaction with the slowness of 
the pursuit, with the mistakes made at Krasnoye and on the 


WAR AND PEACE. a Sa er 


Beresina, and gave him his ideas as to what should be the 
coming campaign beyond the frontier. | 
Kutuzof made no reply or remark. That same submissive 
and stupid expression with which seven years before he had 


_ listened to his sovereign’s comments on the field of Austerlitz 


rested now on his face. 
When Kutuzof left the cabinet and was passing along the 


hall with his heavy, plunging gait and with sunken head, some 


one’s voice called him back. ; 
“ Your serene highness,” cried some one. 
Kutuzof raised his head and looked long into the eyes of 


Count Tolstoi, who with a small trinket on a silver platter 


stood before him. 
Kutuzof apparently knew not what was wanted of him. 
Suddenly he came to himself; a scarcely perceptible smile 


flashed across his pudgy face, and, making a low and respect- 
_ ful bow, he took the object lying on the platter. 


lt was “the George” of the first degree. 


CHAPTER XI. 


THE next day the field-marshal gave a dinner and a, ball 
which the sovereign honored with his presence. 

Kutuzot had received the George of the first degree; the 
sovereign had paid him the highest honors; but the sover- 


' eign’s dissatisfaction toward the field-marshal was noticeable 


to every one. ‘The proprieties were strictly observed, and the 


' sovereign set the first example of this; but all knew that the 


- old general was considered blameworthy and unfit for further 


_ employment. 


When, at the ball, Kutuzof, in accordance with an old cus- 


- tom of Catherine’s time, commanded the standards captured 





from the enemy to be inclined before the sovereign as he 


entered the ball-room, the sovereign frowned with annoyance, 


and muttered certain words, among which some overheard the 


expression, — “ Starui Komediant —the old actor!” 
The sovereign’s dissatisfaction with Kutuzof was increased in 


 Vilno, especially because Kutuzof evidently would not or could 


not understand the significance of the campaign before him. 
When, on the following morning, the sovereign said to the 

officers who came to pay their respects to him, “You have 

saved not Russia alone; you have saved all Europe,” every 


one yery well understood that the war was not ended. 


218 WAR AND PEACE. 


Kutuzof was the only one who would not see this, and he 
openly expressed his opinion that a new war could not im- 
prove the position or increase the glory of Russia, but could 
only weaken her position and diminish the already lofty pin- 
nacle of glory on which Russia, in his opinion, was now stand- 
ing. He endeavored to show the sovereign the impossibility 
of recruiting fresh armies; he spoke about the difficult posi- 
tion of the inhabitants, and hinted at the possibility of failure 
and the like. 

Having such ideas, the field-marshal naturally made himself 
only a hinderance and a stumbling-block in the way of the war 
then beginning. 

In order to avoid collisions with the old general, a conven- 
ient way presented itself, which was: — just as at Austerlitz, 
and as at the beginning of the campaign when Barclay was 
commander-in-chief, to take out from under the commander- 
in-chief the ground of the power whereon he stood, without 
disturbing him, or even letting him realize it, and to transfer 
it to the sovereign himself. 

With this end in view, the staff was gradually re-formed, 
and all that constituted the strength of Kutuzof’s staff was 
destroyed or transferred to the sovereign’s. } 

Toll, Konovnitsuin, Yermolof, received other appointments. 
All openly expressed the opinion that the field-marshal was 
becoming very weak, and that his health was ina precarious 
condition. 

It was necessary for him to be in “ weak health,” so that he 
might transfer his place to his successor. And the truth was 
his health was feeble. 

Just as naturally and simply and gradually as Kutuzof had 
been summoned from Turkey to appear in the court of the 
exchequer at Petersburg to take charge of the landwehr and 
afterwards of the army, so now when it was necessary it came 
about just as naturally, gradually, and simply, when Kutuzof’s 
part had been played to the end, that his place should be filled 
by the new actor that was required. 

The war of 1812, besides accomplishing the national object 
so dear to every Russian heart, was destined to have another 
significance still: — one European. 

The movements of the nations from west to east was to be 
followed by a movement from east to west, and for this new 
war a new actor was needed, who had other qualities and views 
from those of Kutuzof, and was moved by other impulses. 

Alexander the First was as necessary to move the nations 


r 


a 


: 


WAR AND PEACE. 219 


from east to west and to establish the boundaries of the 
nations as Kutuzof had been for the salvation and glory of 
Russia. : 

Kutuzof had no notion of the meaning of Europe, the 
Balance of Power, Napoleon. He could not understand this. 
For the representative of the Russian people, after the enemy 


had been annihilated, Russia saved and established on the 


highest pinnacle of her glory, for him a Russian, as a Russian, 
there was nothing left to do. For the representative of the 


national war there was nothing left except death. 


And he died. 


CHAPTER XII. 


PIERRE, as is generally the case, felt the whole burden of 


_ his physical deprivations, and the long strain to which he had 


been subjected while a prisoner, only when the strain and the 
privations were at an end. 

After his liberation he went to Orel; * and on the second 
day after his arrival, just as he was about to start for Kief, 
he was taken ill, and remained in Orel for three months. 

He had what the doctors called bilious fever. 

In spite of the fact that the doctors treated him, bled him, 
and made him swallow drugs, he nevertheless recovered. 

All that had happened to him between the time of his lib- 
eration and his sickness left scarcely the faintest impression 
upon him. He remembered only gray melancholy, sometimes 
rainy, sometimes snowy days, internal physical distress, pain 
in his legs, in his side; he had a general impression of un- 
happy, suffering people; he recollected the annoying inquisi- 
tiveness of officers and generals, who asked him all sorts of 
questions ; his difficulties in finding carriages and horses; and, 
above all, hé recalled his disconnected thoughts and his feel- 
ings at the time. 

On the day that he was liberated, he saw Petya Rostof’s 
dead body. On the same day he learned that Prince Andrei 
had lived more than a month after the battle of Borodino, and 
had died only a short time previously, at Yaroslavl, at the 
Rostofs’ house. . 

On that same day, also, Denisof, who had given Pierre this 
piece of news, spoke of Ellen’s death, supposing that Pierre 
had known about it long before. 


*Pronounced Aryol. 


220 WAR AND PEACE. 


All this, at that time, had merely seemed strange to Pierre. 
He felt that he could not take in the significance of all this 
news. : 

His sole desire at that time was to get away as speedily as 
possible from those places where men were killing each other, 
to some quiet refuge, and there to coliect his senses, to rest, 
and to think over all that was so strange and new that he had 
learned in those days. 

But as soon as-he reached Orel he was taken ill. When he 
regained his consciousness, he saw two of his servants, — 
Terentii and Vaska,—who had come from Moscow, and the - 
oldest of the princesses, who had been residing at Yelets, on 
one of Pierre’s estates, and, hearing of his liberation and ill- 
ness, had come to take care of him, 

During his convalescence, Pierre only gradually got rid of 
the impressions which the preceding months had made upon 
him, and accustomed himself to the thought that no one would 
drive him forth the next morning, that no one would dis- 
possess him of his warm bed, and that he was certain to have 
dinner and tea and supper. But in his dreams he still, for a 
long time, continued to see himself in the same conditions of 
captivity. 

In the same way Pierre gradually came back to realization 
of the news which he had heard on the day of his lberation : 
Prince Andrei’s death, the destruction of the French. 

The joyous feeling of freedom, that perfect, inalienable 
freedom inherent in man, a realizing sense of which he had 
for the first time experienced at the first halting-place, when 
he was carried away from Moscow, filled Pierre’s soul during 
his convalescence. He was amazed that this inner freedom, 
independent of all external circumstances, now, as it were, 
surrounded him with an excess, with a luxury of external 
freedom. 

He was alone in a strange city, where he had ‘no acquaint- 
ances. No one wanted anything of him, no one forced him to 
go anywhere against his will. He had everything that he 
wanted; the thought about his wife, that had formerly tor- 
mented him, had vanished as though she had never existed. 

“ Ah, how good! how splendid!” he would say to himself, 
when a table with a clean cloth was moved up to him with 
fragrant bouillon, or when, at night, he lay stretched out on 
the soft, clean bed, or when he remembered that his wife and 
the French no longer existed. “Ah! how good! how splen- 
did!” And out of old habit he would ask himself the ques- 





WAR AND PEACE. 221 


tions: “Well, what is to be? what am I going to do?” and 
instantly he would answer himself, “Nothing at all! [’m 
going to live. Akh! how glorious!” 

The very thing that he had formerly tormented himself 
about, and constantly sought in vain, —an object in life, — 
now no longer existed for him. 

- This long-sought-for object of life was not merely absent 
by chance for the time being, but he felt that it did not exist 
and could not exist. And it was precisely this absence of an 
object in life which at this time constituted his happiness. 

He could have no object, because now he had a faith — not 


| a faith in any rules or creed or dogmas, but faith in a living, 





everywhere perceptible God. 

Hitherto he had sought for God in objects which he had set 
for himself. This searching for the object was only the seek- 
ing for God, and suddenly, during his captivity, he had learned, 
' not from words, not from reasoning, but from his immediate 

consciousness, what his old nurse had used long, long before 
to say, that God was here, there, and every where. 

He had learned, during his captivity, that God in Karatayef 
was more majestic, endless, and past finding out, than in what 
the Masons called the Architect of the Universe. 

He had a similar experience to that of the man who should 
find under his very feet the object of his search, when he 
had been straining his eyes in looking at a great distance. 
All his life long he had been looking away over the heads of 
the surrounding people, while all the time there had been no 
need to strain his eyes, but merely to look straight ahead. 

He had not been able hitherto to see the Great, the Incom- 
prehensible, the Infinite in anything. He had only felt that 
It ought to be somewhere, and he had searched for it. 

In all that was near and comprehensible, he had seen only 
what was limited, the narrow, finite, meaningless. He had 
provided himself with a mental telescope, and looked out into 
the distance, yonder, where this narrow, finite object, concealed 
in the murky distance, seemed to him great and infinite, 
simply because it was not clearly seen. 

In this way European life, politics, Masonry, philosophy, 
philanthropy, had presented themselves to him. 

But at the very moments when he had accounted himself 
most weak his mind had leapt forth into that same distance, 


| and then he had seen how small and narrow, how finite and 





meaningless, it all was. 
Now, however, he had learned to see the Great, the Eternal, 


222 WAR AND PEACE. 


and the Infinite in everything, and therefore, naturally, in 
order to see it, in order to enjoy the contemplation of it, he 
had thrown away his telescope, through which he had, till 
then, been looking over men’s heads, and joyfully contem- 
plated the ever changing, incomprehensible, and eternal life 
all around him. And the more closely he looked, the more 
serene and happy he became. | 

The terrible question which hitherto had overturned all his 
mental edifices —the question Why —no longer tormented 
him. His mind had always ready the simple answer: Because 
God is, that God without whose will not a hair falls from the 
head of a human being. 


b 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Pierre had scarcely changed in his outward habits. 

At first sight he was just the same as he had been before. 
Just as before he was absent-minded, and seemed inly absorbed, 
not in what was before his eyes, but in his own thoughts. 
The difference between his former and his present self lay in 
this: hitherto, when he had forgotten what was before him, or 
paid no attention to what was said to him, he would wrinkle 
his brows with a martyr-like air, as though striving, but without 
success, to study into something that was far away. Now in 
the same way he was inattentive to what was said to him, and 
oblivious of what was before him; but now with a scarcely 
perceptible, what one might almost think a satirical, smile, he 
looked at what waS before him, he listened to what was said 
to him, although it was evident that his eyes and his mind 
were concerned with something entirely different. 

Hitherto he had seemed to be a good man, but unhappy, 
and therefore people could not help being repelled by him. 
Now a smile, called forth by the mere pleasure of living, ‘con- 
stantly played around his mouth, and his eyes were lighted 
up by a sympathetic interest in people,—in the question 
“ Were they as happy as he was ?” 

And people liked to be with him. 

Hitherto he had talked much, got easily excited, and was a 
poor listener; now he was rarely carried away by the heat of 
an argument, and had become such a good listener that people 
were glad to tell him the deepest secrets of their hearts. 

The princess, who had never liked Pierre and had cherished 
a peculiar feeling of animosity against him ever since that 


WAR AND PEACE. 223 


4me when after the count’s death she had found herself under 
ybligations to him, greatly to her annoyance and surprise, 
ifter a short stay at Orel, whither she came with the inten- 
sion of showing Pierre that, in spite of his “ingratitude,” she 
sonsidered it her duty to take care of him, — the princess 
quickly felt that she was growing fond of him. 

~ Pierre did nothing for the sake of winning her good graces. 
He merely studied her with curiosity. Hitherto the princess 
had felt that only indifference and irony were expressed in 
his view of her, and she shrank into herself before him, just 
is she did in the presence of other people, and showed only 
her harsh and disagreeable side; while now she at first with 
distrust, but afterwards with gratitude, showed him the good 
side of her character, which she had kept hidden. 

The craftiest of men could not have been more skilful in 
winning the princess’s confidence, than he was in eliciting her 
recollections of the happiest days of her youth, and express- 
ing his sympathy. But all the time Pierre’s whole craft con- 
sisted in his seeking his own pleasure in calling out humane 
feelings in the spiteful, acidulous princess, who had her own 
measure of pride. 

“Yes, he is a very, very good man when he is under the influ- 
ence of people who are not bad — of people like myself,” said 
the princess to herself. 

The change that had taken place in Pierre was remarked, 1n 
their own way, by his servants Terentii and Vaska. They 
found that he had grown vastly more simple. 

Terentii oftentimes, while undressing his barin, and while 
he had his boots and his clothes in his hand, and had wished 
him good-night, would hesitate about leaving the room, think- 
ing that his barin might like to engage him in conversation. 
And it was a very common occurrence for Pierre to call 
Terentii back, noticing that he was in a mood for talking. 

* «Well, now, tell me — how did you manage to get anything 
to eat ?”’ he would ask. 

And Terentii would begin to relate about the destruction of 
‘Moscow, or about the late count, and would stand for a long 
time with the clothes in his hand, telling stories, or sometimes 
‘listening to Pierre’s yarns, and then, with a pleasing sense of 
nearness to his barin and of friendliness to him, go into the 
anteroom. ’ 
~The doctor who had charge of Pierre’s case, and who visited 
/him every day, in spite of the fact that, in accordance with the 
gustom of doctors, he felt it his duty to assume the mien of a 


: 


224 WAR AND PEACE. 


man every minute of whose time was precious in the care of 
suffering humanity, would spend hours with Pierre, relating 
his favorite stories and making his observations on the pecul- 
larities of the sick in general, and the ladies in particular. 

“Yes, there is something delightful in talking with such a 
man — very different from what one finds in the provinces,” 
he would say. 

In Orel there were several French officers who had been 
taken prisoner, and the doctor brought one of them, a 
young Italian, to see Pierre. 

‘This officer began to be a frequent visitor, and the princess 
laughed at the sentimental affection which the Italian con- 
ceived for Pierre. 

The Italian was happy only when he could be with Pierre 
and talk with him, and tell him about his past, about his 
home life, about his love affairs, and pour out in his ears his 
indignation against the French and particularly against Napo- 
leon. 

“Tf all the Russians are in the least like you,” he would 
say to Pierre, “it is a sacrilege to wage war on a people like 
yours —c’est un sacrilege que de faire la guerre @ un peuple 
comme le votre! Though you have suffered so much from the 
French, yet you seem to have no ill will against them.” 

This passionate love shown by the Italian, Pierre had won 
only because he had brought out in him the best side of his 
nature and took pleasure in him. 

During the latter part of Pierre’s stay in Orel, he received 
a visit from his old acquaintance, the Freemason Count Vil- 
larsky — the same one who had introduced him into the lodge 
in 1807. Villarsky had married a rich Russian lady, who had 
a great estate in the government of Orel, and he held a tem- 
porary position in the commissariat department in the city. 

Learning that Bezukhoi was in Orel, Villarsky, though his 
acquaintance with him had been far from intimate, came to 
call upon him with the same manifestations of friendship and 
neighborliness which men are apt to show each other when 
they meet in a wilderness. Villarsky was bored to death in 
Orel, and he was delighted to meet a man of the same social 
rank as- himself, and with similar interests, as he supposed. 
But Villarsky quickly discovered, to his amazement, that 
Pierre was far behind the times and had fallen into a state of 
apathy and egotism, as he expressed it in criticising Pierre to 
himself. | 

“ Vous vous encroutez, mon cher-—you are becoming | 


WAR AND PEACE. 995 


fossil,” he would say to him. Nevertheless Villarsky was 
more at home with Pierre than he had ever been in times past, 
and he came to see him every day. 

As Pierre looked at Villarsky and listened to him now, it 
was strange and almost incredible to think that he himself 
had been like him only such a short time before. 

Villarsky was a married, family man, occupied with the nace 
ness connected with his wife’s estate, and with his public 
duties and with his family. He looked upon all these occu- 
pations as a hinderance to hfe, and felt that they were all 
worthy of contempt, because their end and aim was the per- 
sonal advantage of himself and his wife. Military, administra- 
tive, political, and Masonic affairs constantly engrossed his 
attention. And Pierre, without making any effort to change 
Villarsky’s views, and not blaming him, studied this strange 
but only too well-known phenomenon with his now constantly 
gentle and pleasant smile of irony. 

In Pierre’s relations with Villarsky, with the princess, with 
the doctor, with all the people with whom he was now brought 
in contact, he displayed a new characteristic, which won ‘tor 
him the good will of all men: —this was the recognition of 
the possibility of every one to think and feel for himself, and 
to look upon things in his own way; the recognition of the 
impossibility of convincing any one of anything by mere 
words: this legitimate, lawful prerogative of every man, which 
formerly had excited and annoyed him, now gave him ground for 
the sympathy and interest which he felt in people. The 
variance and sometimes the perfect contradiction between the 
views of people and his life, and among themselves, delighted 
Pierre, and brought to his lips a gentle, satirical smile. 

_ In practical affairs Pierre now unexpectedly felt that he 
had acentre of gravity, that had been lacking before. Hith- 
verto, every question concerning finance, especially demands 
‘upon him for money, to which, like every rich man, he was 
,often subjected, aroused in him helpless worry and perplexity. 
_To give, or not to give ? that was the question with him. “I 
have it and he needs it. But another one needs it still more. 
‘Which needs it the most? But perhaps both are frauds.” 
_ And in days gone by, out of all these hypotheses -he had 
found no exit, and was in the habit of giving to all indiserimi- 
| ae SO long as he had anything to give. He used to find 
‘himself in precisely the same quandary at every question 
which concerned his estate, when one would say that he must 
do this way, and another would recommend another way. 
VoL. 4.— 15. 








226 WAR AND PEACE. 


Now he found, to his amazement, that he was troubled no 
longer with doubts and perplexities. He now ssemed to have 
some sense of judgment, which, deciding by some laws un- 
known to himself, decided what was necessary and what was 
unnecessary for him to do. 

was no less than before indifferent to pecuniary mat- 
ters; but now he knew infallibly what he ought to do and 
what not. The first time that this new sense of justice had to 
decide a question was in the case of one of the prisoners, a 
French colonel, who came to him, told him many stories of his 
Zreat expivits, and, ‘nally, almost demanded that Pierre 
should give him four thvasand francs to send to his wife and 
children. 

Pierre, without the slightesv Jifficulty or effort, refused him, 
amazed afterwards to find how simple and easy it was to do 
what had always before seemed to him unutterably difficult. 

At the very time, however, that he refused <he colonel, he 
made up his mind that it required the utmost shrewdness in 
order, on the eve of his departure from Orel, to inaaee the 
Italian officer to take some money, which he evidently neeued. 

A new proof for Pierre of the greater soundness in his 
views of practical affairs was his decision of the question con- 
cerning his wife’s debts, and whether his house in Moscow and 
his Pod-Moskovnaya datcha or villa should be rebuilt or not. 

While he was at Orel, his head overseer came to hinr, and 
he and Pierre made out a general schedule of his altered in- 
come. The conflagration of Moscow had cost Pierre, accord: 
ing to the overseer’s reckoning, about two millions. 

The head overseer, as a measure of relief for his losses, pro. 
posed a scheme whereby, notwithstanding the losses, hig 
income would be not only not diminished, but rather in- 
creased, and this was that he should refuse to honor the debts 
left by the late countess, for which he was not accountable, 
and should not rebuild his Moscow house and Pod-Moskovnaya 
datcha, which cost him, to keep up, eighty thousand a year, and 
brought him in nothing. 

“Yes, yes, that is true,” said Pierre, gayly smiling. “ Yes, 
yes, I don’t need it at all. The fire has made me vastly 
richer !? 

But in January Savelyitch came from Moscow, told him 
about the condition of the city, about the estimate which the 
architect had made for rebuilding the Moscow mansion and 
the Pod-Moskovnaya, and spoke about it as though it were a 
matter already decided. 





WAR AND PEACE. yale 


_ At the same time Pierre received letters from Prince Vasili 
and other acquaintances in Petersburg. These letters men- 
tioned his wife’s debts. And Pierre decided that the scheme 
_proposed by his head overseer, which had pleased him so much 
at first, was not right, and that he must go to Petersburg to 
, wind up his wife’s business affairs, and settle down in Mos- 
cow. Why this was necessary he knew not; he only knew 
beyond a peradventure that it was necessary. His income, in 
consequence of this decision, would be diminished three- 
fourths; but it was a case of necessity ; he felt it. 

Villarsky was going to Moscow, and they decided to travel 
jtogether. 
| Pierre had experienced during all the time of his convales- 
cence, in Orel, a sense of delight, of freedom, of life; but 
when, during his journey, he came out into the free world and 
_saw hundreds of new faces, this feeling was still further in- 
‘tensified. 
_ During all the time of his journey he felt as happy asa 





schoolboy at having his vacation. All the faces, —the pos- 
tilion, the watchman,* the peasants along the road or in the 
village, — all had a new meaning for him. 

The presence of Villarsky, with his observations and his 
constantly expressed regret at the poverty, barbarism, and 
backwardness of Russia compared with Europe, only height- 
ened Pierre’s delight. 

Where Villarsky saw only deadness, Pierre saw the extraor- 
dinary fecund power of life, that power which, in the snow, 
in that expanse of plains, upheld the life of this united, pecul- 

jar, and unique people. He did not contradict Villarsky, and 


| 
the shortest means of avoiding arguments from which there 
was no escape — and, gayly smiling, listened to him. 






| 
| 
| affected to agree with him — since pretended agreement was 
| 


| CHAPTER XIV. 


af 
ec 


' Just as it is hard to explain why and whither the ants rush 
\ from a dismantled ant-hill, some dragging away little frag- 
‘ments, eggs, and dead bodies, others hurrying back to the ant- 
, hill again, — why they jostle each other, push each other, and 
. fight, —so would it be hard to explain the causes that com- 
pelled the Russian people, after the departure of the French, © 


* Ydamshchik, smatrityel. 


998 WAR AND PEACE. 


to throng back to that place which had formerly been called — 


Moscow. 


But just as when one looks at the ants tearing in wild con, — 


fusion around their despoiled abode, notwithstanding the coms 
plete destruction of the ant-hill, one can see by the activity and 
energy, by the myriads of insects, that everything is utterly 
destroyed, except the something indestructible, immaterial, 
which constitutes the whole strength of the ant-hill, — so, in 


Moscow, in the month of October, though there was no one in — 
authority, no churches open, no priesthood, no riches, no— 
houses, still it was the same Moscow that it had been the > 


month of August. 


Everything was destroyed except the something immaterial 


but potent and indestructible. 


The motives of the people who flocked from all sides into 
Moscow after its evacuation by the enemy, were the most — 
various and personal, and, for the most part, savage, animal, 
One motive, only, was common to all: that was the tendency _ 


toward the place that had once been called Moscow, for the 

employment there of their activity. | 
Within a week Moscow already had fifteen thousand 

inhabitants ; in a fortnight twenty thousand, and so on. Con- 


stantly rising and rising, the population, by the autumn of © 
1813, reached a figure which exceeded that which it had in 1812. _ 


The first Russians to enter Moscow were the Cossacks of 
Winzengerode’s division, the muzhiks from the neighboring 
villages, and the inhabitants of Moscow who had fled and con; 
cealed themselves in the environs. 

Returning to ruined Moscow, the Russians, finding it plun- 
dered, began also to plunder. They continued the work begun 
by the French. Muzhiks brought in earts, in order to carry 
back to their villages whatever was to be found abandoned 
in the houses or streets of ruined Moscow. 

The Cossacks carried off what they could to their tents; 
proprietors of houses took possession of whatever they could 
lay their hands on in other houses, and carried it home under 
the pretext that it was their own property. 

But the first comers were followed by other plunderers, and 
they by still others; and pillage each day, in proportion as the 
numbers increased, became more and more difficult, and was 
conducted under more definite forms. . 

The French found Moscow, though deserted, yet provided 
with all the forms of a city the life of which flowed in accord- 
ance with organic laws, with its various functions of trade, 





WAR AND PEACE. 229 


handicraft, luxury, imperial administration, religion. These 
forms were a dead letter, but they still existed. There were 
_markets, shops, magazines, grain stores, bazaars, — most of 
.them provided with wares; there were manufactories and 
workshops; there were palaces, noble mansions filled with 
, objects of luxury; there were hospitals, prisons, court-rooms, 
churches, cathedrals. 
, The longer the French staid, the less these forms of city 
life were kept up, and toward the end everything was resolv- 
ing itself into one common dead level of pillage. 
The longer the pillage conducted by the French continued, 
| the more it diminished the wealth of Moscow and the strength 
| of the pillagers. 
_ The pillage conducted by the Russians (and the occupation 
of the capital by the Russians began with this) —the longer 
it lasted, and the more freely it was shared by the people, the 
“more rapidly it increased the wealth of Moscow and restored 
the regular life of the city. 

Besides the pillagers, the most varied sort of people, at- 
tracted, some by curiosity, some by their duties in the service, 
some by interest, — householders, clergymen, high and low 
chinovniks, tradesmen, artisans, muzhiks from various direc- 
tions, — flowed back into Moscow like blood to the heart. 

At the end of a week, already, peasants who drove in with 
empty carts in order to carry away things, were halted by the 
authorities and compelled to carry away dead bodies from the 

. city. 

Other muzhiks, hearing of the lack of commodities, came in 
with wheat, oats, hay, by competition with each other redu- 
_ eing prices even lower than they had been before. Master 
carpenters, hoping for fat jobs, each day flocked to Moscow, 
| and in all directions new houses began to go up and the old 
burned mansions to be restored. 

Merchants displayed their wares in huts. Restaurants and 
taverns were established in mansions that had been through 
| the flames. The clergy conducted divine service in many 
' churches that had escaped the conflagration. People con- 
. tributed ecclesiastical furniture that had been stolen. 
Chinovniks spread their tables and set up their document- 
- eupboards in little rooms, High officials and the police made 
arrangements for restoring property that had been abandoned 
| by the French. The owners of houses in which were found 

many articles that had been brought from other houses, com- 
, plained of the injustice of the order to bring everything te 








230 WAR AND PEACE. 


the court of the exchequer. Others urged that, as the French 
had brought things from different houses into one place, it was 
therefore unfair to allow the owner of that house to keep 
whatever was found in it. They abused the police; they 
tried to bribe them. Estimates were received, tenfold too 
high, for building crown edifices that had been burned. Pecu- 
niary assistance was asked for. Count Rostopchin began to 
write his proclamations. 


CHAPTER XV. 


TowArp the beginning of February, Pierre came to Moscow 
and established himself in the fliigel or wing that remained 
intact. He paid visits to Count Rostopchin and various 
acquaintances who had returned to Moscow, and he planned 
to go a couple of days later to Petersburg. : 

All were enthusiastic over the victory. There was a fer- 
ment of life in the ruined and revivified capital. All weleomed 
Pierre warmly. All were anxious to meet him, and plied him 
with questions in regard to all that he had seen. 

Pierre felt drawn by special ties of sympathy and friend- 
ship to all whom he met; but he now treated every one 
guardedly, so as not to bind himself to any one. To all ques- 
tions which he was asked — whether important or the most 
trivial — where he was going to live? was he going to re- 
build? when was he going to Petersburg, and should he try 
to take his trunk with him ? —he would answer “ Yes,” or 
“Perhaps so,” or “I think so,” or the like. 

He heard that the Rostofs were in Kostroma, and the 
thought of Natasha rarely occurred to him. If it came to him, 
it was only as a pleasant recollection of something long past. 
He felt himself not only freed from the conditions of life, but 
also from that sentiment which, as it seemed to him, he had 
wittingly allowed himself to cherish. 

On the third day after his arrival at Moscow, he learned 
from the Drubetskois that the Princess Mariya was in Moscow. 
Prince Andrei’s death, sufferings, and last days had often 
recurred to Pierre’s mind, and now they came back to him 
with fresh force. When, after dinner, he learned that the 
Princess Mariya was in Moscow, and was residing in her 
own house, which had escaped the conflagration, he went, that 
same evening, to call upon her. 

Qn the way to the mansion on the Vozdvizhenka, Pierre 


WAR AND PEACE. 931 


constantly thought about Prince Andrei, about his friendship 
for him, about his various meetings with him, and especially 
their last meeting at Borodino. 

“Can he have died in that same sardonic mood in which he- 
then was? Can the explanation of life have been revealed to 
him before his death?” Pierre asked himself. He remem- 
bered Karatayef and his death, and involuntarily he began 
to compare these two men, so antipodal, and, at the same 
time, so alike in the love which he had felt for them, and 
then from the fact that both had lived and both were dead. 

In the most serious frame of mind, Pierre reached the old 
prince’s mansion. This house remained intact. It still bore 
‘traces of wear and tear, but the character of the house was 
the same as before. 

Pierre was met by an old ofitsidnt, or head lackey, with a 
stern face, who, by his face, seemed to wish it to be under- 
stood that the prince’s absence did not affect the strictness 
of the régime, and said that the princess had been pleased to 
retire to her room, and received on Sundays. 
| Carry her my name; perhaps she will receive me,” said 
Pierre. 

“ Slushdyu-s —I obey,” replied the lackey. “Please come 
to the portrait gallery.” 

In a few moments, the ofitsitént returned to Pierre with 
Dessalles. Dessalles, in the name of the princess, informed 
Pierre that she would be very glad to see him, and begged 
him, if he would excuse her for the lack of ceremony, to come 
upstairs to her room. 

In the low-studded room, lighted by a single candle, the 
princess was sitting, and some one else in a black dress. 
Pierre remembered that the princess had always with her 
lady-companions,* but who and what these lady-companions 
were, Pierre knew not and could not remember. 

“That is one of her lady-companions,” he said to himself, 
glancing at the lady in the black dress. 

The princess quickly arose, came forward to meet him, and 
shook hands with him. “ie 
_ “Yes,” said she as she looked into his altered face, after he 
-had kissed her hand. “So we meet again at last. He often 
used to speak about you during the last days of his life,” said 
‘she, turning her eyes from Pierre to the “kompanyonka” with 
‘an embarrassment that for an instant struck Pierre. “I was 


a 


* Kompanydnki. 





232 WAR AND PEACE. 


so glad to know of your rescue. That was truly the best piece 
of news we had received for a long time.” 

Again the princess looked still more anxicusly at the 
“kompanyonka,” and wanted to say something, but Pierre 
did not give her an opportunity. | 

“You can imagine I knew nothing about it,” said he. “I 
thought he was killed. All that I knew, I knew from others, 
and that at third hand. All I know is that he fell in with the 
Rostofs. What a strange good fortune!” 

Pierre spoke rapidly, excitedly. He looked once into the 
“kompanyonka’s” face, saw an apparently flattering, inquisi- 
tive glance fastened upon him, and, as often happens during 
a conversation, he gathered a general idea that this “kom- 
panyonka” in the black dress was a gentle, kindly, good crea- 
ture, who-would not interfere with the sincerity and cordiality 
of his conversation with the Princess Mariya. 

But when he said the last words about the Rostofs, the 
embarrassment expressed on the princess’s face was even 
more noticeable than before. She again turned her eyes 
from Pierre’s face to the face of the lady in the black dress, 
and said, — 

“But don’t you recognize her ? ” 

Pierre once more looked into the “ kompanyonka’s” pale, 
delicate face, with the dark eyes and strange mouth. Some- 
thing near and dear, something long forgotten and more than 
kind, was looking at him from those attentive eyes. 

“But no, it cannot be,” he said to himself. “That face so 
stern, thin, and pale, and grown so old. That cannot be she! 
It is only something that reminds me of her!” But while he 
was thus reasoning with himself, the Princess Mariya said: 
“ Natasha !” 

And the face with the attentive eyes, with difficulty, with 
an effort, —just as a rusty door opens, — smiled, and from the 
opened door suddenly breathed forth and surrounded Pierre 
the perfume of that long-forgotten happiness, of which he had 
rarely thought, especially of late. Forth breathed the per- 
fume, seized his senses and swallowed him up entirely. When 
she smiled, all doubt ceased; it was Natasha, and he loved 
her ! | | 

At the first minute, Pierre involuntarily told both her and 
the Princess Mariya, and chief of all his own heart, the secret 
that he long had not confessed. He reddened with delight 
and passionate pain. He tried to hide his agitation. But the 
more he tried to hide it, the more distinctly — more distinctly 





WAR AND PEACE. 233 


_than in the most definite words — he told himself and her and 
the Princess Mariya that he loved her! 

_ “No, of course it is only from the surprise,” said Pierre to 

himself; but in spite of all his efforts to prolong the eonversa- 
tion that he had started with the Princess Mariya, he could 

not help looking again at Natasha, and a still deeper flush 
‘suffused his face, and a still deeper agitation of joy and pain 
elutched his heart. He hesitated in his speech, and stopped 
‘short in the midst of what he was saying. 

Pierre had not remarked Natasha for the reason that he had 
“never expected to see her there, but the reason that he did not 
recognize her was because of the immense change that had 
‘taken place in her since he had seen her last. 

She had grown thin and pale. But it was not that that had 
changed her identity; it was impossible that he should have 

recognized her on the first moment of his entrance, because 
that face from whose eyes hitherto had always gleamed forth 
the secret joy of hying, now when he came in and for the first 
{time glanced at her, now had not even the shadow of a smile ; 
‘they were merely attentive, kindly, and pathetically question- 
ing eyes. 

_ Pierre’s confusion did not waken any answering confusion 
in Natasha, but only a contentment that lighted up her face 
-with an almost imperceptible gleam. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


. “SHE came to make me a visit,” said the Princess Mariya. 
“The count and countess will be here in a few days. The 
countess is in a terrible state. But Natasha herself had need 
of consulting the doctor. They sent her with me by main 
force.” 

ie Yes} us there a family without its own special sorrow ?” 
said Pierre, addressing Natasha. “You know that it hap- 
What on the very day that we were set free. I saw hin. 





What a charming boy he was!” 

Natasha looked at him, but in answer to his words her eyes 
dilated and a shade crept over them. 

“What consolation can be given in either thought or word ?” 
exclaimed Pierre. “None at all! Why should such a glori- 
ous young fellow, so full of life, be'called upon to die?” 

, “Yes, indeed, in our time it would be hard to live, if one 
/kad not faith,” said the Princess Mariya. 





234 WAR AND PEACE. 


“Yes, yes! That is the real truth,” interrupted Pierre 
hastily. 

“Why?” asked Natasha, gazing attentively into Pierre’s 
eyes. 

“How can you say why?” asked the Princess Mariya. 
“The mere thought of what awaits us there” 

Natasha, without hearing the Princess Mariya. to the end, 
again looked with questioning eyes to Pierre. 

“Why, because,” continued Pierre, “only that man who 
believes that there is a God who directs our ways can endure 
such a loss as hers —and yours,” added Pierre. 

Natasha had her lips parted to say something, but suddenly 
stopped. Pierre quickly turned from her, and again addressed 
the princess with a question concerning his friend’s last days. 

Pierre’s embarrassment had now almost disappeared, but at 
the same time he felt that all his former freedom had also 
disappeared. He felt that his every word and act had now a 
critic, a judge that was dearer to him than .the opinion of all 
the people in the world. 

When he spoke now, he measured at every word the impres- 
sion which his words produced upon Natasha. He purposely 
refrained from saying what would have pleased her; but what- 
ever he said he judged from her standpoint. 

The Princess Mariya, reluctantly at first, as is always the 
case, began to tell him about the state in which she had found 
her brother. But Pierre’s questions, his evidently troubled 
eyes, his face trembling with emotion, gradually induced her 
to enter into particulars which she would have been afraid to 
call back to her recollection for her own sake. 

“Yes, yes, indeed it is so,” said Pierre, leaning forward 
with his whole body toward the Princess Mariya, and eagerly 
listening to her story, —“ Yes, yes, and so he grew calmer? 
more softened? He so earnestly sought with all the powers 
of his soul for the one thing: to be perfectly good. He could 
not have feared death. The faults that he had—if he had 
any —came from other sources than himself. And so he grew 
softened ?” exclaimed Pierre. ‘What good fortune that he 
met you again,” he added, turning to Natasha and looking at 
her, his eyes brimming with tears. 

Natasha’s face twitched. She frowned, and for an instant 
dropped her eyes. For a minute she hesitated ; should she 
speak, or not speak. 

“ Yes, it was good fortune,” said she in a low chest voice. 
“For me indeed it was a happiness.” She became silent. 





WAR AND PEACE. Doo 


«And he—he—he said that it was the very thing that 
he was longing for when I went to him” — 

Natasha’s voice broke. She clasped her hands together on 
her knees, and suddenly, evidently making an effort to con- 
tain herself, raised her head and began rapidly to speak : — 

_ “We knew nothing about it when we left Moscow. I 
‘had not dared to ask about him. And suddenly Sonya told 
me that he was with us. I‘had no idea, I could not ima- 
gine in what a state he was. I only wanted one thing — 
‘to see him, to be with him,” said she, trembling and chok- 
‘ing. And without letting herself be interrupted, she related 
| what she had never before told a living soul; all that she 
‘had suffered in those three weeks of their journey and their 
sojourn at Yaroslavl. 

Pierre listened to her with open mouth and without tak- 
ing from her his eyes full of tears. In listening to her he 
‘thought not of Prince Andrei or of death, or even of what’ 
she was telling him. He heard her and only pitied her for 
the suffering which she underwent now in telling the tale. 

The princess, frowning with her endeavor to keep back her 
| tears, sat next Natasha, and listened for the first time to 

the story of these last days that her brother had spent 
with Natasha. 
' This tale, so fraught with pain and joy, it was evidently 
' necessary for Natasha to relate. 

She spoke commingling the most insignificant details with 
/ the intimate secrets of the heart, and it seemed as if she 
' would never reach an end. Several times she repeated the 
same things. 

' Dessalles’s voice was heard outside the door, asking if Niko- 
! lushka might come and bid them good-night. 

/ “And ga that is all, all” — said Natasha. When Niko- 
' lushka came in she quickly sprang up and almost ran to the 
! door, and, hitting her head against the door, which was hidden 
} by a portiére, flew rom the room with a groan which was 
i caused neither by pain sor grief. 


| Pierre gazed at the door tarough which she had disappeared, 

and could not understand why he seemed suddenly left alone 

and deserted in the world. 

i The Princess Mariya aroused him from his fit of abstraction 

| by calling his attention to her nephew, who had come into the 
room. 

- Nikolushka’s face, which resembled his father’s, had such 


an effect upon Pierre, in this moment of soul-felt emotion into 


236 WAR AND PEACE. 


which he had come, that after he had kissed the lad he quickly 
arose, and, getting out his handkerchief, went to the window. 

He wanted to bid the Princess Mariya good-night and go, 
but she detained him. 

“No, Natasha and I often on up till three o’clock ; please 
stay a little longer. I will order supper served. Go down- 
stairs, we will follow immediately.” 

But before Pierre left the room the princess said to him, — 

“This is the first time that she has spoken of him.” 


CHAPTER XVII. 


PIERRE was conducted into the large, brightly lighted dining- 
room. Inafew minutes steps were heard, and the princess 
and Natasha’came into the room. Natasha was now calm, 
‘although a grave expression, untouched with a smile, still re- 
mained on her face. 

The Princess Mariya, Natasha, and Pierre alike experienced 
that sense of awkwardness which is sure to follow after 
a serious and intimate conversation. To pursue the former 
subject is no longer possible; to talk about trifles does not 
seem right; and silence is disagreeable because such silence 
seems hypocritical, especially if one wishes to talk. 

They silently came to the table. The servants drew the 
chairs back and pushed them forward. Pierre unfolded his 
cold napkin, and, making up his mind to break the silence, 
looked at Natasha and the Princess Mariya. 

Each of them had evidently at the same time made the 
same resolve; the eyes of both shone with the satisfaction of 
life, and the avowal that if sorrow exists, so also Joy may 
abound. 

“Will you have vodka, count ? ” asked the Princess Mariya, 
and these words suddenly drove away the shadows of the 
past. 

“Tell us about yourself, ” said the Princess Mariya. “We 
have heard such incredible stories about you.” — 

“Yes?” replied Pierre with that smile of good-humored 
irony which was now habitual with him. “Itoo have heard most 
marvellous things about myself—things that I have never 
even dreamed of seeing. Marya Avramovna invited me to 
her house, and told me all that ever happened to me or was 
supposed to have happened. Stepan Stepanuitch also gave 
me a lesson in the way that I should tell my story. As a 


WAR AND PEACE. OST 


general thing, I have observed that it is a very comfortable 
thing to be an ‘interesting person’ (I am now an interesting 
‘person )! Iam invited out and made the subject of all sorts 
of stories.” 

Natasha smiled, and started to say something. 

_ & We were told,” said the Princess Mariya, forestalling her, 
“that you lost two millions here in Moscow. Is that true ?” 
«But still it made me three times as rich as before,” replied 
‘Pierre. 

Pierre, in spite of his wife’s debts and. the necessity upon 
him of rebuilding his houses, which would alter his circum- 
|stances, continued to tell people that he had grown three 
times as rich as before. 

« What I have undoubtedly gained,” said he, “is this free- 
‘dom which I enjoy” —he had begun seriously, but he hesi- 


‘tated about continuing, observing that the topic of the con- 


‘versation was too egotistical. 
«“ And are you going to rebuild ?” 


| “Yes: Savelyitch advises it.” 


“Tell me, you did not know at all about the countess’s 
death when you were in Moscow?” asked the Princess 
Mariya, and instantly reddened, noticing that in having put 
this question immediately after what he had said about his 
freedom, she might have given a sense to his words which 


perhaps they had not. 


“No,” replied Pierre, evidently not discovering anything 


-awkward in the interpretation which the Princess Mariya had 


; 


E 
| 


| 








given to his remark about his freedom. “ I first heard about 


“it in Orel, and you cannot imagine how it surprised me. We 
! were not a model husband and wife,” he quickly added, with 


a glance at Natasha, and observing in her face a gleam of 
curiosity as to what he would have to say about his wife. 


' “But her death gave me a terrible shock. When two people 


quarrel, always both are at fault. Anda person’s fault sud- 
denly becomes awfully serious when the other party comes to 
die. And then such a death !— without friends, without con- 
solation! I felt very, very sorry for her,” said he, in conclu- 


! sion, and noticing with a sense of satisfaction a look of glad 


approval in Natasha’s face. 

“Well, and so you are a single man and marriageable 
again,” said the Princess Mariya. 

Pierre’s face suddenly. grew livid, and for long he tried not 


to look at-Natasha. When at length he had the courage to 


look at her, her face was cold, stern, and even scornful as it 
seemed to him. 


238 WAR AND PEACE. 


“And did you really see Napoleon and talk with him ? 
That’s the story they tell us,” said the Princess Mariya. 

Pierre laughed. 

“Not once, never! It always seems to every one that to 
have been a prisoner was to have been Napoleon’s guest. I 
* not only never saw him, but did not hear him talked about. I 
was in far too humble company.” 

Supper was over, and Pierre, who at first refused to tell 
about his captivity, was little by little drawn into storie 
about it. | 

“But it is true, isn’t it, that you remained behind for the 
purpose of killing Napoleon?” asked Natasha, with a slight 
smile. “I imagined as much when we met you at the Su- 
kharef Tower, —do you remember ? ” 

Pierre acknowledged that this was true; and with this ques- 
tion as a starting-point, and gradually led on by the Princess 
Mariya’s questions, and especially by Natasha’s, Pierre was 
brought to give them a detailed account of his adventures. 

At first he told his story with that gentle, ironical expres- 
sion which he now used toward other people and especially — 
himself; but afterwards, when he came to tell about the hor- | 
rors and sufferings which he had beheld, he, without being 
himself aware of it, was carried away, and began to talk with 
the restrained excitement of a man who was reliving, in his | 
recillections, the most vivid impressions. : 

The Princess Mariya, with a gentle smile, looked now at_ 
Pierre, now at Natasha. Throughout all this narration, she 
saw only Pierre and his goodness. | 

Natasha, leaning her head on her hand, with her face re- 
flecting in its expression all the varying details of the story, 
gazed steadily at Pierre without once taking her eyes from 
him, evidently living with him through all the dreadful scenes : 
of which he told. 

Not only her looks, but her exclamations and the brief ques- 
tions which she asked, showed Pierre that, from his story, she 
took to heart exactly what he wanted to convey. It was evi- 
dent that she understood not merely what he told her, but 
also that which he would have wished but was unable to ex- 
press in words. 

Concerning his adventure with the child and the woman 
the protection of whom had led to his. arrest, Pierre told in 
the following manner:— . ote 

“This was a horrible sight: children deserted, some in the 
flames—one child was dragged out before my very eyes — 





WAR AND PEACE. 239 


women who were robbed of their possessions, their ear-rings 
snatched away ” — ; 

_ Pierre reddened and stammered. 

| “Then came the patrol and arrested all those who were not 
engaged in pillage — all the men. — And myself!” 

| “You certainly are not telling the whole story; you cer- 
tainly did something,” said Natasha, and paused a moment, 
‘— “something good! ” 

Pierre went on with his narration. When he came to tell 
‘about the execution, he wished to avoid the horrible details, 
but Natasha insisted that he should not omit anything. 
| Pierre began to tell about Karatayef. By this time he had 
risen from the table, and was walking back and forth, Na- 
‘tasha’s eyes following him all the time. — But he paused, — 

, “No, you cannot understand how I learned from that illit- 
erate man — half an idiot!” 

“Yes, yes, go on,” cried Natasha. “What became of 
him Pei 

| “He was shot almost in my very presence.” 

_ And Pierre began to tell about the last period of the re- 
treat of the French, Karatayef’s illness (his voice constantly 
trembled) and his death. Pierre, in relating his adventures, 
found that they came back to him in an entirely new light. 

He now found what seemed to be a new significance in all 
that he had experienced. Now, while he was telling all this 
to Natasha, he experienced that rare delight afforded by 
‘women — not intellectual women, who, in listening, try either 
to remember what is said for the sake of enriching their 
minds, and, on occasion, of giving it out themselves, or to apply 
What is said to their own cases, and to communicate with all 
diligence their intellectual remarks elaborated in the work- 
shops of their petty brains — but the delight afforded by 
genuine women gifted with the capacity to bring out and 
assimilate all that is best in a man’s impulses. 

Natasha, without knowing it, was all attention: she did 
not lose a word, of an inflection of his voice, or a glance, 
or the quivering of a muscle in his face, or a single gesture 
that he made. 

, She caught on the wing the word as yet unspoken, and took 
it straight to her generous heart, divining the mysterious 
meaning of all the spiritual travail through which Pierre had 
passed. 

/ The Princess Mariya comprehended his story, sympathized 
with him, but now she saw something else which absorbed alk 











240 WAR AND PEACE, 


her attention: she saw the possibility of love and happiness 
for Pierre and Natasha. And this thought, occurring to her 
for the first time, filled her heart with joy. : 

It was three o’clock in the morning. The servants, with 
gloomy, stern faces, came to bring fresh candles, but no one 
heeded them. a 

Pierre finished his.story. Natasha, her eyes gleaming with 
excitement, continued to look steadily and earnestly at Pierre, 
as though wishing to read the portions of his story that he 
had perhaps not told. : 

Pierre, with a shamefaced but joyous sense of embarrass- 
ment, occasionally looked at her, and wondered what to say: 
next in order to change the conversation to some other topic. 

The Princess Mariya was silent. It occurred to none of 
them that it was three o’clock in the morning, and time to go. 
to bed. 

“We talk about unhappiness, sufferings,” said Pierre. 
“Yet if now, this minute, I were asked, ‘Would you remain. 
what you were before your imprisonment, or go through it all 
again ?’ I should say, ‘ For God’s sake, the imprisonment once 
more and‘ the horse-flesh. We think that when we are 
driven out of the usual path, everything is all over for us; 
but it is just here that the new and the good begins. As 
long as there is life, there is happiness. There is much, much. 
before us! I tell you so,” said he, addressing Natasha. 

“Yes, yes,” said she, answering something entirely differ- 
ent. “And I should wish nothing better than to live my life 
all over again.” 

Pierre looked at her keenly. 

“No, I could ask for nothing more.” 

“You are wrong, you are wrong,” cried Pierre. “I am not 
to blame because I am alive and want to live; and you also.” 

Suddenly Natasha hid her face in her hands, and burst into 
tears. . 

“What is it, Natasha?” asked the Princess Mariya. 

“Nothing, nothing.” She smiled at Pierre through her 
tears. 

“Good-by, it is bed-time.” 

Pierre got up and took his departure. 





The Princess Mariya and Natasha, as usual, met in thei 
sleeping-room. They talked over what Pierre had told them. 
The princess did not express her opinion of Pierre. Neither 
did Natasha speak of him, 


| WAR AND PEACE. 241 
* “Well, good-night, Marie,” said Natasha. “Do you know 
Tam often afraid that in not speaking of him (Prince Andrei) 
for fear of doing wrong to our feelings, we may forget him ?” 
‘| The Princess Mariya drew a deep sigh, and by this sigh 
‘eonfessed to the justice of Natasha’s words ; but when she 
‘spoke, her words expressed a different thought: — “How 
‘could one forget him?” she asked. 

/ “It was so good for me to-day to talk it all over; and hard 
‘too, and painful and good — very good,” said Natasha. “I was 
certain that he loved him so. That was why I told him. — 
‘There was no harm in my telling him, was there?” she asked, 
\suddenly reddening. 

iS “To Pierre? Oh, no! What a fine man he is!” exclaimed 
‘the Princess Mariya. 

“Do you know, Marie,” suddenly broke out Natasha, with 
a roguish smile, which the Princess Mariya had not seen for 
a long time on her face, “he has grown so clean, neat, fresh, 
just as though he were out of a bath. Do you know what I 
(mean — morally out of a bath! Isn’t that so?” 

) “Yes,” said the Princess Mariya. “He has gained very 
much.” 

“And his jaunty little coat,* and his neatly cropped hair; 
just exactly — yes, just exactly as papa used to look when he 
‘was fresh from his bath!” 

“T remember that he (Prince Andrei) liked no one so well 
‘as Pierre,” said the Princess Mariya. 

“Yes; and yet both of them were peculiar in their own 
way. ‘They say that men are better friends when they are 
not alike. It must be so. Don’t you think that they were 
very different ?” 

“ Yes, and he’s splendid.” 

“Well, good-night,” replied Natasha; and the same mis- 
Shievous smile long remained in her face, as though she had 
forgotten to drive it away. 


' 
| 








CHAPTER XVIII. 


‘Ir was long before Pierre went to sleep that night. He 

strode back and forth through his chamber, now scowling, now 

surdening himself with heavy thoughts, then suddenly shrug- 

'ying his shoulders and starting, and then again smiling. 

| He was thinking about Prince Andrei, about Natasha, and 
* Surtoutchek kordtenkii. 

VOL. 4.— 16. 


249 WAR AND PEACE. 


the love which they bore each other; and sometimes he felt 


himself for it, sometimes he justified it. | 

It was already six o’clock in the morning, and still he kept 
pacing through his room. 

“Well, what’s to be done? Is it still impossible? What 
is to be done? Of course it must be so,” said he to himself, 
and, hastily undressing, he got into bed, happy and excited, 
but free from doubt and irresolution. “Yes, strange and 
impossible as this happiness seems, I must do everything, 
everything, to make her my wife,” he said to himself. 

Several days previously, Pierre had fixed upon Friday for 


the day of his departure for Petersburg. When he woke up» 


it was Thursday, and Savelyitch came to him for orders in 
regard to the packing of his things for the journey. 
“Petersburg? What about Petersburg? Who is going to 


Petersburg?” he could not help asking of himself! “Oh, | 


yes, some time ago, before ever this happened, I had some 
such thought —I was going to Petersburg for some reason or 
other,” he remembered. “ Why was it? Yes, perhaps I shall 
go as it is. How good and attentive he is! How he remem- 
bers everything,” he said to himself, as he looked into Savel- 
yitch’s old face. ‘ And what a pleasant smile,” he thought. 

“Aren’t you always longing to have your freedom, Savel 
yitch ?” demanded Pierre. 

“Why should I wish my freedom, your illustriousness ? 
While the late count was alive —the Kingdom of Heaven be 
his — we lived with him, and now we have nothing to com- 
plain of from you.” 

“Well, but your children ? ” . 

“The children will live also, your illustriousness: one can 
put up with such masters.” 

“Yes, but my heirs,” suggested Pierre. “I may suddenly 
marry. — You see, that might happen,” he added, with ap. 
involuntary smile. 

‘And may I be bold enough to say, a very good thing, too, 
your illustriousness !” 

“ How easy it seems to him,” thought Pierre. ‘He cannot 
know how terrible, how perilous a thing it is. Too soon or 
too late —terrible!” 

“What orders do you please to give? Do you wish to 
start to-morrow ?” asked Savelyitch. 

“No, Iam going to postpone it for a few days. I will tell 
you when the time comes. Forgive me for putting you to so 


jealous of her for what was past, sometimes he reproached 





WAR AND PEACE. 248 


imuch trouble,” said Pierre, and, as he saw Savelyitch’s smile, 
‘he said to himself, “ How strange it is that he doesn’t know 
that Petersburg is now nothing to me, and that this matter 
‘must be decided before anything is. Of course he must know 
—he’s only pretending! Shall I talk with him about it? 
(How will he lke it?” wondered Pierre. ‘No, I will wait a 
dittle.” 

| At breakfast, Pierre informed his cousin, the princess, that 
he had been the evening before to call upon the Princess 
‘Mariya, and whom did she suppose he found there? Natasha 
‘Rostova ! ! 

| The princess pretended that she saw nothing more extraor- 
‘dinary in this than if he had seen Anna Semyonovna. 

“Do you know her?” asked Pierre. 

“TI have met the princess,” she replied. “I have heard 
‘that she has become engaged to young Rostof. That would 
‘be a very good thing for the Rostofs; they say their affairs 
are all in confusion.” 
| “No, but do you know the Countess Natasha ?” 

‘> “I have heard something about her story. It’s very sad.” 

“ Hither she does not understand, or she is pretending not 
to understand,” said Pierre to himself; “Vd better not tell 
Ber, either.”’ 

_ The princess, also, had been making some preparations for 
| Pierre’s journey. 

“ How kind they all are,” thought Pierre, “ when now there 

can be nothing at all interesting to them in all this, to take 
‘so much trouble with my affairs. And all for me! truly it’s 
wonderful !” 
On that same day Pierre went to the chief of police to tell 
ihim that he would send a trusty servant to receive the prop- 
erty that was to be restored to the citizens that day at the 
_granavitaya palatd, or court of the exchequer. 

“ And now this man, also,” thought Pierre, as he looked into 
the politsiméister’s face. ‘ What a splendid, fine-looking 
‘Officer, and how kind he is! Now he is occupied with such 
trifles! And yet they say that he is not honest, and is mak- 
ing use of his opportunities! What nonsense! Besides, why 
‘should he not take advantage? He was educated to do so. 
And that’s the way they all do. But he had such a pleasant, 
‘good face! and smiled so agreeably when he looked at me.” 
Pierre went that evening to dine at the Princess Mariya’s. 
| As he went along the streets, lined with the blackened ruins 
‘of houses, he was amazed at the beauty that he discovered in 








944 WAR AND PEACE. 


these ruins. The chimney-stacks, the fallen walls, vividly re. 
minding Pierre of the Rhine and the Colosseum, stretched 
along one behind the others, all through the burnt districts. 
The hack-drivers and passers-by, the carpenters hewing tim- 
bers, merchants and shop-keepers, all with jovial, shining faces, 
gazed at Pierre, and seemed to say, —“ Ah, there he goes. 
Let us see what will come of it.” 

Before he reached the Princess Mariya’s, the doubt occurred 
to Pierre’s mind whether it were true that he had been there 
the evening before, and seen Natasha and talked with her. 

“Perhaps I was dreaming? Perhaps I shall go in and find 
no one.” 

But he had no sooner entered the room, than, in his whole 
» being, by the instantaneous loss of his freedom, he. realized. 
her presence. She wore the same black dress with soft folds, 
and her hair was done up in the same way as the evening be- | 
fore, but she herself was entirely different. If she had been 
like that the evening before, when he went into the room, he 
could not have failed, for a single instant, to recognize her. __ 

She was just the same as she had been when almost a child, 
and afterwards, when she was Prince Andrei’s affianced bride. 
A merry, questioning gleam flashed in her eyes; her face had 
a genial and strangely roguish expression. 

Pierre dined with them, and would have spent the whole - 
evening, but the Princess Mariya was going to vespers, and 
Pierre accompanied them. 

The following day, Pierre went early, dined with them, and 
spent the whole evening. 

Although the Princess Mariya and Natasha were evidently 
glad of his company, although all the interest of Pierre’s life 
was now concentrated in this house, still, as the evening wore 
away, they had talked everything out, and the conversation 
constantly lagged from one trivial subject to another, and 
often flagged altogether. : 

Pierre staid that evening so late that the Princess Mariya 
and Natasha exchanged glances, evidently feeling anxious for 
him to go. Pierre saw it, and yet could not tear himself 
away. He felt embarrassed and awkward, but still he staid 
because he could not get up to go. 

The Princess Mariya, not seeing any end to it, was the first 
to get up, and, pleading migraine as an excuse, started to bid 
him good-night. 

“And so you are going to Petersburg to-morrow ?” she 
asked. 





WAR AND PEACE. 245 


| “No, I don’t expect to go,” hastily replied Pierre, with sur- 
‘prise and apparent annoyance. ‘Yes, —no—oh, to Peters- 
‘burg? Day after to-morrow, perhaps. Only I won't say 
good-by now. I will call to see if you have any commis- 
sions,” said he, standing in front of the Princess Martya, with 
\flushed face and embarrassed manner. 
- Natasha gave him her hand, and left the room. The Prin- 
‘cess Mariya, on the contrary, instead of going, resumed her 
‘chair, and, with her luminous, deep eyes, gazed eravely and 
‘earnestly at Pierre. The weariness which she had really felt 
‘just before had now entirely passed away. She drew a long 
and deep sigh, as though nerving herself for a serious conver- 
“sation. 
All Pierre’s confusion and awkwardness instantly disap- 
peared the moment that Natasha left the room, and gave place 
to an agitated excitement. 
"He swiftly drew his chair close to the Princess Mariya. 

“Yes, I wanted to have a talk with you,” said he, respond- 
‘ing to her look, as though it were spoken words. 

“Princess! help me! What am I to do? Have I reason 
‘to hope? Princess, my friend, listen to me. I know all 
‘about it. I know that I am not worthy of her. I know that 
it is wholly impossible, at the present time, to speak about it. 
‘But I wish to be like a brother to her. — No, I do not, I can- 
‘not wish that. — I cannot” — 

He paused, and rubbed his face and his eyes with his 
‘hand. 

“Now, here!” he pursued, evidently making an effort to 
‘eommand himself to speak coherently. “I don’t know when 
I first began to love her. But all my life long I have loved 
her, and her alone, and I love her so that I cannot imagine 
‘life without her. I cannot make up my mind to sue for her 
hand now; but the thought that perhaps she might be mine, 
and that I had lost this opportunity — opportunity — 1s hor- 
‘yible to me. Tell me, have I reason to hope? Tell me what I 
‘must do. Dear princess,” said he, after a little silence, and 
he touched her hand when she did not reply. 

«TJ was thinking of what you have told me,” returned the 
Princess Mariya. “This—hear what I have to say. You 
‘are right that to speak to her now of love ” — 

| The princess paused. She meant to say, to speak to her of 
| love was impossible now; but she paused because for two days 
past she had observed, from the change that had taken place 
in Natasha, that Natasha would not only not be offended if 


’ 
| 


’ 














Sent 


246 WAR AND PEACE. 


Pierre should confess his love for her, but that this was the 
very thing that she was longing for him to do. 

“To tell her now —is impossible,” said the Princess Mariya, | 
nevertheless. 

“But what am I to do?” 

“Leave it all to me,” said the Princess Mariya. “I 
know ” — | 

Pierre looked into the Princess Mariya’s eyes,' “ Well 
well”? — said he. 

“T know that she loves you — will love you,” said the Prin- 
cess Mariya, correcting herself. . . 

She had searcely said these words before Pierre sprang up, 
and, with a frightened face, seized the Princess Mariya’s 
hand. 

“What makes you think so? Do you really think that I 
may hope? Do you think so?” 

“Yes, I think so,” said the Princess Mariya, with a smile: 
“Write to her parents. And trust it all tome. I will tell 
her when the suitable time comes. Iam,anxious for it. And 
my heart tells me that it will be.” 

“No, it cannot be! How happy I am! _ But it cannot 
be!” repeated Pierre, kissing the princess’s hand. 

“You go to Petersburg; that is best. And I will write to 
you,” said she. 

“To Petersburg? Go away? Yes, very good, I will go. 
But may I come to call to-morrow ?” 

On the following day, Pierre went to say good-by. Natasha 
was less animated than on the preceding days; but to-day 
when Pierre occasionally looked into her eyes he felt that his 
existence was nothing, that he was not, and that she was not, 
but that one feeling of bliss filled the world. 

“Can it be? No! impossible!” he said to himself at each 
glance, word, motion of hers, so filling his heart with joy. 

When, on saying “good-by,” he took her delicate, slender 
hand, he involuntarily held it rather long in his. 

“Can it be that this hand, this face, these eyes, —all this 
marvellous treasure of womanly beauty, —can it be that it 
will be mine forever, as familiar to me as I am to myself? 
No, it 1s impossible! ” 

“Good-by, count— prashchdite, graf!” said she to him 
aloud. “I shall await your return with impatience,” she 
added in a whisper. 

And these simple words, the look and the expression of her 
face that accompanied them, constituted the basis of inexhaust- 





WAR.AND PEACE. QAT 


ible recollections, memories, and happy dreams during Pierre’s 
two months’ absence. 

“¢T ghall await your return with impatience.’ Yes, yes, 
how did she say ? — Yes, ‘I shall await your return with in- 
patience.’ Akh! how happy I am! What does it mean that 

_Iam so happy ?” — 


CHAPTER XIX. 


In Pierre’s soul nothing took place like what had taken 
_place under precisely similar circumstances at the time of his 
engagement with Ellen. , 

He did not repeat as before, with a sickening sense of shame, 
‘the words that he said; he did not ask himself: “Akh! why 

did I not say that, and why, why did I say, Je vous ame” ? 

Now, onthe contrary, every word that she said, every one 
of his own words, he repeated in his imagination with all the 
_ various details of her face and her smile, and be had no wish 
‘to take away or add a single one. His sole desire was to 
repeat them. 

There was now not the slightest shadow of doubt as to 

whether what he was going to do was right or wrong. Only 
“one terrible doubt ever occurred to his mind :— Was it not alla 
dream? Wasnot the Princess Mariya mistaken? “ Am I not 
too proud and self-conceited ? I believe I am; but this surely 
might happen —the Princess Mariya might tell her, but she 
would smile and reply, ‘How strange! He is surely mistaken! 
Does he not know that he is a mai, a simple man ? while I — 
Iam entirely different, vastly superior.’ ” 
‘This was Pierre’s only doubt, and it frequently recurred to 
,him. He now even ceased to make plans. His actual happi- 
ness seemed to him so incredible that the accomplishment of 
_ this seemed enough of itself, and anything more was a work 
of supererogation. All was over. 
A joyous, unexpected insanity, of which Pierre believed 
himself incapable, possessed him. All the meaning of life, 
. not for himself alone, but for the whole world, seemed to him 
' to be included only in his love for her and the possibility of 
, her love for him. | 
"It sometimes seemed to him that all men were occupied 
' with only one thing —his future happiness. It sometimes 
seemed to him that they were all rejoicing, just as he was, and 
"were only trying to hidé this happiness, while pretending to 





248 WAR AND PEACE. 


be absorbed in other interests. In every word and action he 
discovered hints pointing toward his happiness. He often 
surprised the people who met him, by his blissful looks and 
smiles, which expressed some: secret, inward harmony. 

But when he realized that these people could not know about 
his happiness, he pitied them with all his heart, and experi- 
enced a keen desire somehow to explain to them that all that 
occupied their time was perfect rubbish and trifles not worthy 
of their attention. 


When it was proposed to him to take some office, or when 


criticisms were made on the general course of political events 
or the war, and suppositions were advanced that such and 
such a method of procedure would bring happiness to all men, 
he listened with his gentle, compassionate smile, and amazed 
those who were talking with him by his odd observations. 

But those men who seemed to Pierre to comprehend the real 
meaning of life, that is, his own views of it—as well as those 


who were unfortunate enough apparently not to comprehend 


it —in fact, all men at this particular time were brought into 


such a brightly concentrated light, radiating from his own | 


heart, that without the slightest difficulty he at once on meet- 
ing with any one saw in him whatever was good and worthy 
of love. 


On examining his late wife’s affairs and papers, he, in his — 


memory of her, experienced nothing, no other feeling than 


one of pity, that she knew not the happiness which he now © 


knew. Prince Vasili, who was now especially proud of a new 


place and decorations, seemed to him a touchingly good and 
miserable old man. 

Pierre often in after-days remembered this time of happy 
folly. All the judgments which he formed for himself of 
. men and events at this time remained forever established in 
his mind. He not only did not afterwards renounce these 


views of men and things, but, on the contrary, in all his 


inward doubts and contradictions, he came back to that view 
which he had during this time of folly, and this view. aay 
seemed correct. 


“Perhaps,” he would say to himself, “I seemed strange | 


and absurd at that time. But I was not so foolish as it might 
appear. On the contrary, I was wiser and more sagacious 
than ever before, and I understood all that is worth under- 
standing in life, because —I was happy.” 

Pierre’s folly or unreason consisted in this, that he did not 
as before wait for the personal reasons —the merits of people, 





WAR AND PEACE. 249 


‘as he called them —to be displayed before he loved them, 


but love filled his heart, and he, by constantly loving his 
fellow-men, found undoubted reason for making it worth his 
while to love them. 


. CHAPTER XX. 


From that first evening when Natasha, after Pierre had left 


them, had told the Princess Mariya with a joyously mis- 
-chievous smile that he was just as though he had come out of 
his bath, and called attention to his jaunty coat and his closely 


cropped hair, from that moment something awoke in her 


heart that had lain dormant, and was unknown even to her, 


but irresistible. 
Everything about her suddenly underwent a change — her 


face, her gait, her look, her voice. Unexpectedly to herself 
the power of life and hope of happiness flashed forth outwardly 


and demanded satisfaction. From that first evening Natasha 
seemed to have forgotten all that had happened to her. 
Henceforth she never once complained of her situation or 
said one single word about the past, and she had no hesitation 
even in forming happy plans for the future. 

She had little to say about Pierre; but when the Princess 
Mariya mentioned him, the long extinguished gleam was 
kindled in her eyes, and her lips were curved with a strange 
smile. The change that took place in Natasha at first amazed 
the Princess Mariya; but when she understood the signifi- 
cance of it she was grieved. 

“Could it be that she had loved my brother so little that 
she is so ready to forget him?” mused the Princess Mariya 
when by herself she pondered over this change that had come 


over Natasha. 


But when she was with Natasha she neither felt angry 
with her nor reproached her. The awakening powers of life, 
which had taken such hold of Natasha, were evidently so un- 
controllable, so unexpected to herself, that the Princess 
Mariya while in her presence felt that she had no right to 
reproach her even in her heart. 

Natasha gave herself up with such completeness and frank 
honesty to this new feeling, and made so little pretence to 
hide it, that now she became glad and merry instead of sad 


and sorry. 


When the Princess Mariya, after that midnight declaration 


¢ 


250 WAR AND PEACE. 


of Pierre’s, Tetmeneg to her room, Natasha met her on the 
threshold. 

“ He has spoken ? Yes? He has spoken?” she insisted, 
and an expression, joyous, and at the same time pathetically 
pleading for forgiveness for her joy, came into Natasha’s face. 


“T was tempted to listen at the door; but I knew that you 


would tell me.’ 


Thoroughly as the princess understood the look which 
Natasha gave her, touching as it was, much as she pitied her — 
emotion, still Natasha’s words, at the first instant, offended | 


the Princess Mariya. She remembered her brother, his love 
for her. 

“But what is to be done? She cannot be otherwise than 
what she is?” reasoned the Princess Mariya, and with a mel- 


ancholy and rather stern face she told Natasha all that Pierre — 


had said to her. 


When she heard that he was going to Petersburg, Natasha 


was thunder-struck. 
“To Petersburg?” she repeated, as though not taking it 


in. But when she observed the melancholy expression which © 


the Princess Mariya’s face wore, she surmised the reason for 
her melancholy, and burst into tears. 
.“ Marie,” said she, “tell me what must Ido? Tam afraid 
I am doing wrong. T will do whatever you say; teach me.” 
“Do you love him?” 
“Yes,” whispered Natasha. 
“What makes you cry, then? Iam glad for you,” said the 
Princess Mariya, already, because of these tears, completely 
pardoning Natasha’s joy. 


“Tt will not be very soon.—Just think what happiness 


when I am his wife and you marry Nicolas.” 

“Natasha, I have asked you never to bee about that. We 
will talk about yourself.” 

Both were silent. 

“But why must he go to Petersburg ?” suddenly éxclaimedy 
Natasha, and made haste to answer her own theca “Well, 
well, it is best so. — Yes, Marie, it is best so.’ 





HPILOG. 


Peer TS PRS T: 
CHAPTER I. 


SEVEN years had passed. The storm-tossed historical sea 
of Europe lay sleeping on its shores. It seemed at peace; 
but the mysterious forces which moved humanity — mysteri- 
.ous because the laws which govern their movements are 
unknown to us—were continually at work. 

Though the surface of the historical sea seemed motionless, 
humanity was pressing onward with a motion as continuous 
as the passage of time. 

Distinct groups of men were organized and disorganized : 
causes for the formation and disintegration of empires and 
the migrations of nations were set on foot. 

The historical sea no longer, as before, swayed in vast swells 
from shore to shore. It boiled in its secret depths. 

Historical characters no longer, as before, rode on the crest 
of the billows from shore to shore: they now seemed to be 
gathered together in one place. Historical personages, who 
before, at the head of armies, had reflected the motion of the 
masses by calls to war, by campaigns and battles, now reflected 
this movement by political and diplomatic combinations, laws, 
treaties. 

This activity of historical personages historians call re-action. 

Historians, in describing the activity of these historical per- 
‘sonages, who, according to their judgment, were the cause of 
what they call the re-action, are very severe in their strictures 
-upon them. - All the famous people of that time, from Alex- 
ander and Napoleon to Madame de Staél, Fothier, Schelling, 
Fichte, Chateaubriand, and the like, are haled before this 
stern court of justice, and justified or condemned, from the 
standpoint of whether they helped progress or re-action. 

' In Russia, also, according to their writings, re-action set in 
. 251 





252 WAR AND PEACE. 


about this same time, and the one principally to blame for this 
re-action was Alexander I.—that same Alexander I. who, 
according to their writings, was the principal cause of the 
liberal tendencies of his reign and the salvation of Russia. 

In Russian literature at the present time there is no one, 
from the schoolboy to the accomplished historian, who would 
not cast a stone at Alexander for his faulty behavior at this 
period of his reign. 

“He ought to have done this or done that.” 

“In such and such a case he did well, in something else he 
Cues List copy | 

“He behaved splendidly at the beginning of his reign and 
during 1812; but he did wrong in giving a constitution to 
Poland, in establishing the Holy Alliance, in granting power 
to Arakcheyef, in encouraging first Golitsuin and mysticism, 
and afterwards encouraging Shishkof and Fothier.” 

“He made an error in employing the van of the army; he 
blundered in disbanding the Semyonovsky regiment,” and so 
on and so on. | 

One might fill a dozen pages with the enumeration of all | 
the reproaches which the historians have made against him on | 
the ground of that knowledge of the welfare of humanity | 
which they possess. . 

What is the significance of these reproaches ? 

The very same actions for which the historians praise Alex- | 
ander I. — for instance, the liberal tendency of his reign, his | 
quarrel with Napoleon, the firmness which he displayed in the | 
year 1812 and during the campaign of 1813 —do they not flow | 
from exactly the same sources — the conditions of blood, edu- | 
cation, life, which made Alexander’s personality what it was— | 
from which also flowed the actions for which the historians | 
blame him: for instance, the Holy Alliance, the restoration of 
Poland, the re-action of the twenties ? 

What constitutes the essence of these reproaches ? : | 

In this—that such an historical personage as Alexander | 
I., a personage standing on the highest possible pinnacle of 
human power, as it were in the focus of the dazzling light of | 
the historical rays concentrated upon him; a personage sub 
jected to the most potent influences in the world, in the form 
of intrigues, deceptions, flatteries, inseparable from power; a | 
personage who, every moment of his life, bore the responsi | 
bility of all that took place in Europe; and not an imaginary — 
personage, but as much alive as any other man, with his own | 
individual peculiarities, passions, aspirations for the good, the 





WAR AND PEACE. 253 
beautiful, the true, —that this personage, fifty * years ago, 
lacked not virtue (the historians do not reproach him for that), 
“but those views concerning the welfare of humanity which 

are now held by any professor who from early youth has been 
occupied with science, that is, with the reading of books and 
(lectures, and the copying of these books and lectures into a 
“note-book. 
| But even if it be granted that Alexander I. fifty years ago 
was mistaken in his views as to what constitutes the true wel- 
fare of nations, it cannot but be taken for granted that the 
historian also who criticises Alexander will, in exactly the 
| Same way, after the lapse of some time, prove himself incor- 
‘rect in his view as to what is the welfare of humanity. 

This proposition is all the more natural and inevitable from 

the fact that, in the development of history, we see that every 
year, with every new writer, the standard as to what is the © 
‘welfare of humanity changes: thus what once seemed good — 
‘becomes evil in the course of ten years, and vice versa. Still, 
|we find occurring, at one and the same time, perfectly con- 
‘tradictory views as to what is good or what is evil: some re- 
gard the constitution granted to Poland and the Holy Alli- 
ance as creditable, others as disgraceful, to Alexander. 
| __As to the activity of Alexander and Napoleon, it is impos- 
sible to declare that it was advantageous or harmful, since we 
‘eannot say wherein it was advantageous or wherein it was 
harmful. If this activity fails to please any one, then it fails 
‘to please simply in consequence of its failure to coincide with 
‘this person’s limited comprehension as to what is good. 
Apart from the question’ whether the preservation of my 
‘father’s house in Moscow in 1812, or the glory of the Russian 
‘troops, or the weal of the Petersburg or any other university, 
‘or the freedom of Poland, or the might of Russia, or the 
balance of Europe, or a certain state of European enlight- 
enment — progress — appear to me advantageous, I must ac- 
‘knowledge that the activity of every historical personage had, 
‘besides these ends and aims, still others, more universal and 
beyond my comprehension. 

But let us grant that so-called science has the capacity of 
‘reconciling all contradictions, and has for all historical char- 
acters and events an invariable, absolute standard of right and 
wrong. | 

Let us grant that Alexander might have done everything in 
a different way. Let us grant that he might, according to the 


* “ War and Peace” was written between 1864 and 1869. 








254 WAR AND PEACE. 


prescription of those who accuse him, those who profess to have 
a knowledge of the final causes of the movements of human- 
ity, —that he might have acted in accordance with the pro- 
gram of nationality, liberty, equality, and progress, which 
his present-day accusers would have laid down for him. 
Let us grant that this program might have been possible 
and might have been laid down, and that Alexander might 
have acted in accordance with it. What, then, would have 
become of the activity of all those men who at that time were 
in opposition to the tendency of the administration ? —of that 
activity which, according to the opinion of the historians, wa 
good and profitable ? \ «i 

This activity would not have existed; there would have 
been no life; there would have been nothing. 

If it is admitted that human life can be directed by reason, 
then the possibility of life is annihilated. 


CHAPTER II. 


Ir it is admitted, as the historians do, that great men lead 
humanity toward the attainment of certain ends, such as the 
greatness of Russia or France, or the balance ot Europe, or 
the propagation of the ideas of the Revolution, or progress in 
general, or any other object, then it is impossible to explain 
the phenomena of history without the concept chance or 
genius. 

If the object of the European wars at the beginning of the 
present century had been the greatness of Russia, this object 
might have been attained without the preliminary wars and 
without the invasion. 

If the object had been the greatness of France, this object 
might have been attained without the Revolution and the 
empire. ? | 

If the end had been the propagation of ideas, the Press 
would have accomplished it far better than soldiers. 

If the object had been the progress of civilization, it 1s per 
fectly easy to suppose that there are ways for the propagation 
of civilization more expedient than the destruction of men and. 
their property. | 

Why did it happen this way and not that? 

Simply because it happened so. , 

“ Chance created the situation, genius profited by it,” says 
history. 








WAR AND PEACE. 255 


But what is chance, and what is genius ? 

The words “chance” and “genius” represent nothing that 
actually exists, and therefore cannot be defined. 

These words only indicate a certain degree of comprehen- 


sion of phenomena. 


__I know not the cause of a certain phenomenon; I believe 
that I cannot know it; therefore I do not try to know it, and 


“I say chance. 


i 


I see that a force has produced an action disproportionate to 
the ordinary human qualities: I cannot understand the cause 
of this force, and I ery genius. 
To the flock of sheep, the sheep which is driven off every 


evening by the shepherd to a separate pen, and given extra 


food, and becomes twice as fat as the others, must’ seem to be 
a genius. The very fact that every evening this particular 
Sheep, instead of going to the common fold, has a special pen 
and extra food, and that this sheep, this particular sheep, 
once fattened, is killed for mutton, doubtless impresses the 


‘other sheep as a remarkable combination of genius with a 


whole series of extraordinary chances. 
But if the sheep will only stop thinking that everything that 
happens to them results solely for the attainment of their 
sheepish welfare; if they grant that the events happening to 
them may have objects which they cannot comprehend, they 


will immediately perceive a unity and logic in what happened 


to the fattened sheep. 
Even if they cannot know why it was fattened, they will, 


| at least, know that nothing that happened to the sheep hap- 
pened by chance, and they will not need either the concept of 


chance or the concept of genius. 
Only when we rid ourselves of the idea of the proximate 
-and visible object, the end of things, and recognize that the 
ultimate end is wholly unattainable to us, can we see a logical 
connection in the lives of historical personages; there will be 
revealed to us the cause of that disproportion between the 
Capacities of ordinary men and the deeds that they perform, 
and we shall not need the words chance and genius. 
_ It is sufficient simply to admit that the object of the move- 
mInents of European nations is unknown to us, and that we 
know only facts, such as the butcheries first in France, then ° 
In Italy, in Africa, in Prussia, in Austria, in Spain, in Russia, 
-and that the movement from west to east and from east 
‘to west constituted the essence and object of events, and we 
Shall not only no longer need to find genius or anything excep- 


, 





256 WAR AND PEACE. 


tional in the characters of Napoleon and of Alexander, but it 
will be impossible for us to imagine these personages as any- 
thing else than men like all other men, and we shall not only — 
not need to explain on the score of chance the little events 
that made these personages what they were, but it will be 
evident to us that all these little events were necessary. 

When we rid ourselves of the knowledge of the ultimate end, 
we clearly understand that, just as it is impossible to imagine 
ona given plant other flowers and other fruits than those which — 
it produces, so is it impossible to imagine two other men with 
all that they did who would have been fitted to such a degree 
and in the smallest details to the mission which they were 
called upon to fulfil. 3 


CHAPTER III. 


Tur fundamental, essential fact in European events at the — 
beginning of the present century is the warlike movements of 
masses of the nations of Europe from west to east, and then ~ 
from east to west. | 

The first sign of this movement was the movement from 
west to east. 4 | 

In order that the nations of the west might push their war- 
like advance as far as Moscow, it was necessary : — 

1. That they should be concentrated into a warlike mass 
of sufficient magnitude to endure conflict with the warlike 
mass of the east; 

2. That they should renounce all their long-founded tradi- 
tions and habits; and | 

3. That, when this warlike movement was accomplished, 
they should have at their head a man of their own sort, who 
could justify himself and them for the lies, the pillage, and 
the slaughter which accompanied this movement of theirs as 
an essential concomitant. | 

And, beginning back with the French Revolution, the prim- 
itive group, which is not large enough, disperses; old habits 
and traditions come to naught; little by little, a group of new 
precedents, new habits, and new traditions is formed, and the 
man who is to take his plate at the head of the coming move- 
ment, and bear all the responsibility of the events to follow, is 
prepared for his mission. | 

A man without convictions, without habitudes, without tra- 
ditions, without name, not even a Frenchman,—by what 





WAR AND PEACE. 257 


seems strange chances, — glides through all the parties agitat- 
ing France, and, taking part with none, is borne to his des- 
tined place. 

The stupidity of his associates, the weakness and inanity of 
his rivals, his own frankness in lying, and his brilliant and self- 
confident mediocrity, place this man at the head of the army. 

The excellent quality of the soldiers in his Italian army, the 

‘disinclination of the enemy to fight, his childish audacity and 

self-confidence, give him military glory. 

An infinite number of so-called chances meet him every- 
where. 

The disfavor into which he falls with the authorities of the 
French serves to his advantage. 

His attempts to change his predestined career are failures: 
he is not received into the Russian service, the appointment 
to Turkey is not given to him. 

__ During the war in Italy, he several times comes to the very 

brink of destruction, and every time escapes in some unex- 

pected way. 

_ The Russian troops, the very ones who have the power to 
extinguish his glory, through various diplomatic combinations, 
do not enter Europe while he is there. 

On his return from Italy, he finds the government at Paris 
in a state of decomposition so far advanced that the men form- 
ing it are inevitably doomed to ruin; and an escape from this 

dangerous situation offers itself to him in the senseless, unrea- 

sonable expedition to Africa. 

Again so-called chances accompany him. Impregnable 

Malta surrenders without the firing of a shot; the most 
foolhardy plans are crowned with success. 

The hostile fleet, which afterwards would not allow a single 
row-boat to pass, allows his army to pass! 

In Africa, a whole series of atrocities are committed upon 

the almost unarmed inhabitants. And the men who unite 
with him in these atrocities, and especially their chief, per- 
suade themselves that this is admirable, that this is glory, that 

this is like Cesar and Alexander of Macedon, and that this is 

; great ! 

_ This ideal of glory: and greatness, which consists in the 

thought that nothing is to be considered wicked, and that 

every crime is to be arrogated for pride and takes an incon- 
ceivable and supernatural significance, —this ideal, which is 

{ destined to be the guide of this man and of those allied with 

him, has full field for increase in Africa. 

VoL. 4. — 17. 


958 WAR AND PEACE. 


All that he undertakes prospers. The plague touches him 
not. The cruelty of the massacre of prisoners is not imputed 
to him as a crime. . 

His puerile, senseless, unreasonable, dishonorable departure © 
from Africa, from his companions in distress, is accounted to 
him as meritorious, and again, the second time, the hostile fleet 
allows him to pass. 

When, dazzled by the fortunate crimes committed by him, 
and ready to play his part, but without any definite object in 
view, he reaches Paris, the republican government, which a 
year before might still have put an end to him, has now 
attained the last degree of disintegration, and the fact that 
he, a man belonging to no party, is on hand, can only bring 
him to the supreme power. 

He has no plan; he fears every one; but the parties hold 
out their hands to him, and beg his support. 

He alone, with that ideal of glory and greatness built up 
in Italy and Egypt, with his idiotic self-adoration, with his 
audacity in crime, with his frankness in lying, — he alone is 
able to bring to realization the events which are about to take 
place. 

He is the one needed for that place which is waiting for 
him, and therefore, almost independently of his own will, in 
spite of his irresolution, his lack of any determined plan, and 
all the blunders that he makes, he is drawn into a conspiracy 
the aim of which is the possession of power, and the con. 
spiracy is crowned with success. | 

He is thrust into a session of the Directory. Alarmed, he 
wishes to escape, counting himself lost; he pretends that he 1s 
faint; he utters senseless things that ought by good rights to 
have been his destruction. 7 “¢ 

But the directors of France, once so bold and haughty, now 
feeling that their part is played, and being more confused 
than he is, say just the words that they should not have said | 
to retain their power and overthrow him. 

Chance, millions of chances give him power, and all men, as 
if in haste, agree to confirm this power. 

Chance forms the character of the members of the Directors 
of France at that time subservient to him. | 

Chance forms the character of Paul I., who recognizes his 
power. 

Chance forms against Napoleon a plot which, instead of 
being prejudicial to him, confirms his power. 

Chance brings the Prince d’Enghien into his hands, and 


WAR AND PEACE. 959 


mexpectedly compels him to assassinate him; this very act, 
nore than any other, proving to the multitude that he had the 
ight, since he had the might. 

Chance brings it about that he gives all his powers to an 
xpedition against England which would evidently have ruined 

uum, and never carries out the plan, but falls unexpectedly 
yon Mack and the Austrians, who surrender without a 
»attle. 
_ Chance and genius give him the victory at Austerlitz, and, 
dy chance, all men, not only the French but all Europe (with 
he exception of England, which takes no part in the events 
bout to occur), —all men, in spite of their former horror and 
epulsion at his crimes, now recognize his power, his title, 
vhich he has given himself, and his ideal of glory and _great- 
iess, which seems to them all reasonable and beautiful. 

As though practising and preparing for the future move- 
oent, the forces of the west several times push toward the 
‘ast in 1805, 1806, 1807, and 1809, all the time strengthening 
nd increasing. 

In 1811 the group of men formed in France unites into an 
ormous group with the nations of Central Europe. 

_While this group of men goes on increasing, the man at 
he head of the movement finds his powers more and more 
eveloped. 

During the ten years’ preparatory period preceding this 
‘reat movement, this man has been the leader of all the 
rowned heads of Europe. Dethroned rulers of the world 
‘ave no reasonable ideal to oppose to the senseless Napo- 
“onic ideal of glory and greatness. One after another they 
‘trive to show him their own insignificance. 

The King of Prussia sends his wife to solicit the great 
jlan’s favor; the Emperor of Austria considers it a favor if 
‘his man will take to his bed the daughter of the Kaisers ; 
lhe pope, holy guardian of the nations, makes use of his reli- 
lon to raise the great man higher. 

» Napoleon does not prepare himself for the fulfilment of his 
‘art so much as it is his whole environment, which makes him 
ssume all the responsibility for what is taking place and for 
‘that is about to take place. 

No act, no crime, no petty deception which he essays fails 
> be instantly hailed by those around him as some mighty 
eed. 

The best entertainment for him which the Germans can 
‘ink of is the celebration of Jena and Auerstidt. 





960 WAR AND PEACE. 
























Not alone is he great; his ancestors, his brothers, his step-| 
sons, his brothers-in-law are also great. 

Everything conspires to take from him the last vestige of 
reason, and to make ready for his terrible career. : | 

When he is ready, the forces are also ready. 

The invasion rushes toward the east, reaches its final goal —| 
Moscow. 

The capital is taken. The Russian army is more completely) 
shattered than ever were the hostile armies from Austerlitz t¢ 
Wagram. | 

But suddenly, instead of the chances and strokes of genius 
which have borne him so steadily till now through an uninter| 
rupted series of successes to the predestined end, appear at} 
incalculable quantity of contrary chances, from the influenzé 
at Borodino, to the frosts and the sparks that set fire to Mos 
cow; and instead of genius appear unexampled stupidity anq 
baseness. | 

The invasion runs away, turns back, again runs away, auc 
all the chances are now not in his favor but against him. | 

There occurs a counter-movement, from east to west, bearins 
a close resemblance to the preceding movement from west t« 
east. 

The same symptoms of the movement from east to west a} 
occurred in 1805-1807, and 1809, precede the great movement} 
the same union into a group of colossal proportions ; in th 
same way the nations of Central Europe rally to this move) 
ment; the same irresolution in the midst of the way, and th| 
same velocity in proportion as the goal is approached. 

Paris, the ultimate goal, is reached. The Napoleonic govery 
ment and army are overthrown. | 

Napoleon himself no longer has any of his former signif 
cance, all his actions strike men as pitiable and disgusting 
but once more an inexplicable chance supervenes; the allie 
hate Napoleon, and see in him the cause of their misfortunes 
deprived of prestige and power, convicted of crimes and pei 
fidy, he ought to have been regarded as he had been ten yeat 
before, and as he was a year later, as a bandit, outside of thi 
law. But, by a strange chance, no one sees this. 

His réle is not yet finished. 

The man who, ten years before and a year later, men hel 
to be a bandit, outside the law, is sent two days’ distance fror 
France to an island, which is given to him as a domain, wit 
a guard, and millions which are paid to him, for some reason 


; WAR AND PEACE. 261 


CHAPTER IV. 


THE movement of the nations begins to calm itself along 
Jhe shores. The waves of the great uprising fall back, and on’ 
he tranquil sea are formed various eddies on which float 
iplomatists, imagining that they have brought about the 
yessation of the commotion. 
| But the tranquil sea suddenly rises again. The diplomatists 
| that their dissensions are the cause of the new storm; 
they anticipate another war among their sovereigns. The 
‘situation seems to them inexplicable. 

But the wave the approach of which they feel comes not 
nm the direction from which they expect it. 

| It is the uprising of the same wave from the same point of 
leparture, Paris. The last recoil of the movement from the 
‘west takes place —a recoil which is destined to solve the 
liplomatic difficulties, which have seemed inexplicable, and to 
out an end to the warlike movement of that period. 

The man who has devastated France returns to France 
one, without the aid of a conspiracy, without soldiers. Any 
uardsman is at lberty to capture him, but, by a strange 
shance, not only does no one touch him, but all run with 
enthusiasm to meet this man whom they had cursed the day 
»efore, and whom they will curse a month later. 

This man is still needed for the completion of the last act. 
The act is ended. 

The play is over. The actor is told to remove his costume, 
ind wash off the antimony and the rouge. 

He is no longer needed. 

' And several years pass while this man, in solitude on his 
‘sland, plays by himself a miserable comedy, intrigues and 
‘les, justifying his actions, when justification is no longer ne- 
yessary, and shows to the whole world what it was that men 
00k for a force when the invisible Hand made use of it. 

| The Manager, having ended the drama and unmasked the 
wctor, exposes him to us. 

“See in whom you have believed! Here he is. Do you 
iee now that not he, but I, moved you?” 

. But, blinded by the violence of the movement, men long 
pared to understand this. ) 












| Still greater logical sequence and necessity can be seen in 
whe life of Alexander I., that personage who was at the head 


Z62 WAR AND PEACE. 


Wnat qualities should the man possess who should take 
precedeace of others and be placed at the head of this move- 
ment from east to west ? 

- He must have the sense of justice, and take a sympathetic 
part in the affairs of Europe, one free from all petty interests. 

He must have a loftier moral character than any of his con- 
temporaries, the other sovereigns of his time. He must have 
a sweet and captivating personality. And he must have a per- 
sonal grievance against Napoleon. 

And all this is found in Alexander I. ; all this was produced 
by innumerable so-called chances throughout his past life: 
his education, his liberal beginnings, and the counsellors by 
whom he was surrounded, by Austerlitz and Tilsit and Erfurt. 

Throughout the patriotic war, this personage is inactive, 
because he is not needed. 

But, as soon as the necessity of a general European war 
becomes evident, this personage is found at the given moment 
in his place, and, rallying the nations of Europe, he leads 
them to their goal. | 

The goal is reached. 

After the final war of 1815, Alexander finds himself at the 
highest pinnacle of human power. 

What use does he make of this power ? 

Alexander I., the pacificator of Europe, the man who from 
his youth had striven only for the welfare of his people, the 
first to introduce liberal innovations in his country, now, It 
seems, when he possesses unlimited power, and therefore the 
ability to. bring about the welfare of his people at the very 
time that Napoleon, in exile, is making childish and fictitious 
plans how he would benefit humanity if he had the power, —- 
Alexander I., who has fulfilled his mission, and feels the hand 
of God upon him, suddenly comes to a realizing sense of the 
nothingness of this presumable power, renounces it, and gives 
it into the hands of men whom he scorns and despises, and 
merely said, — 

“Not unto us, not unto us, but unto Thy name!’ I am a4 
man like other men. Let me live like a man, and think of my 
soul and of God.” | 


As the'sun and every atom of ether is a sphere perfect in 
itself, and at the same time only an atom in the mighty All 
inaccessible to man, so each individual has within himself his 
own objects, and at the same time serves the common object 
inaccessible to man. + LS 


WAR AND PEACE. 263 


_ The bee, poising on a flower, stings a-child. And the child 
's afraid of bees, and declares that the object of the bee is to 
sting people. 

The poet admires the bee sucking from the calyx of a flower, 
and declares to us that the object of bees is to absorb into 
itself the aroma of the flowers. 

_ The bee-keeper, observing that the bee gathers pollen and 
‘grings it home to the hive, declares that the object of bees is 
she manufacture of honey. 

_ Another bee-keeper, observing more closely the habits of the 
swarm, declares that the bee gathers pollen for the nourish- 
jment of the young bees and the exploitation of the queen, and 
‘that the object of the bee is the propagation of the species. 
A botanist observes that the bee, in flying with the dust of 
a dicecious flower to the pistils of another, fertilizes 1t ; and 
the botanist sees in this the object of the bee. 

_ Another, observing the transmigration of plants, sees that 
ithe bee assists in this transmigration; and this new observer 
may say that in this consists the object of the bee. 

But the final object of the bee is not wholly included in the 
first or the second or the third of the objects which the human 
‘mind is able to discover. 

_ The higher the human mind rises in its efforts to discover 
these objects, the more evident it is that the final object is 
Anaccessible to man. . 
- Man can only observe the correlation existing between the 
life of the bee and the other phenomena of life. The same is 
‘true in regard to the objects of historical personages and 
nations. : 


CHAPTER V. 


| Narasua’s marriage to Bezukhoi, which took place in 1818, 
was the last happy event in the “old” family of the Rostofs. 
That same year Count Ilya Andreyevitch died, and, as always 
happens, his death brought about the end of the former fam- 
ily. The events of the preceding year, the conflagration of 
Moscow and the family’s flight from the city, the death of 
Prince Andrei and Natasha’s despair, Petya’s death, the coun- 
‘tess’s grief, all taken together, blow upon blow, fell upon the 
old count’s head. 

- It seemed as though he could not comprehend, and as though 
‘he realized that he had not the strength to comprehend, the 










J 


264 WAR AND PEACE. 


significance of all these events; he morally, as it were, bent his | 
old head, as though expecting and inviting the new blows | 
which would finish him. 

He appeared sometimes frightened and abstracted, some- 
times unnaturally excited and alert. 

Natasha’s marriage, for the time being, gave him something 
to think about outside of himself. He ordered dinners and | 
suppers, and evidently tried to be cheerful; but his gayety was | 
not contagious as of yore; on the contrary, it aroused compas. | 
sion in people who knew and liked him. ] 

After Pierre and his bride had taken their departure, he fell | 
into a very feeble condition, and began to complain of not | 
feeling well. Ina few days he grew really ill and took to his 
bed. From the first days of his illness, in spite of the doc: | 
tor’s encouragement, he felt certain that he should not recover. | 

The countess, without undressing, spent a fortnight in her | 
arm-chair by his bedside. Every time that she gave him his 
' medicine, he would sob and silently kiss her hand. On the | 
last day he wept and begged the forgiveness of his wife and | 
his absent son for the dissipation of their property, the chief | 
blame for which, he felt, rested on himself. 

Having taken the last communion and final unetion, he 
died peacefully, and on the following day a throng of acquaint- 
ances, who came to pay their duties to the late lamented, filled 
the Rostofs’ lodgings. All these acquaintances, who had so | 
many times dined and danced at his house, who had so many | 
times made sport of him, now, with a unanimous feeling of in- 
ward reproach and emotion, said, as though justifying them- 
selves before some one, — 

“Yes, whatever may be said, he was, after all, one of the 
best of men. We don’t often find such men these’ days. — | 
And who has not his weaknesses ? ”’ 

Just at the very time when the count’s affairs had become 
so entangled that it was impossible to see what the end would 
be if they were allowed to go on for another year, he had un- 
expectedly died. 

Nikolai was with the Russian troops in Paris, when the 
news of his father’s death reached him. He immediately ten- 
dered his resignation, and, without waiting for it to be ac- 
cepted, took a furlough and hastened to Moscow. 

The state of the family finances within a month after the 
count’s death, were perfectly scheduled, and surprised every 
one by the magnitude of the sum to which the various little 
debts amounted, the existence of which no one had even 
suspected. | 





WAR AND PEACE. | 265 


The property would not half pay the debts. 

Nikolai’s relatives and friends advised him to renounce the 
inheritance. But Nikolai saw in this suggestion the implica- 
tion of a reproach to his father’s memory, which he held sa- 
ered, and therefore he refused to hear anything said about 
renouncing the inheritance, and accepted it with all the obli- 
gations to settle the debts. 

The creditors, who had been so long silent, being kept good- 
natured during the count’s lifetime by the vague but powerful 
influence which his easy-going generosity had exerted upon 
them, now all suddenly began to clamor for their debts to be 
paid. As always happens, there sprang up a regular competi- 
tion as to who should be the first to be paid; and those very © 
persons, like Mitenka and others, who held accommodation 
notes — gratuities often — now showed themselves as the most 
pressing of the creditors. . 

Nikolai was given no rest or respite; and those who appar- 
ently had had pity on the old man — the cause of their losses, 
if losses they were — were now pitiless toward the young heir, 
‘who was evidently innocent toward them, but had honorably 
assumed his father’s debts. 

Not one of the speculations which Nikolai tried to engineer 
was successful: the real estate was sold by auction, but did not 
‘bring half its value, and still half the debts remained un- 
liquidated. Nikolai took thirty thousand rubles which his 
brother-in-law offered him to pay that portion of the debts 
which he considered most pressing. And in order that he 
‘might not be sent to jail for the remaining obligations, as the 
other creditors threatened, he again entered the service. 

To return to the army where at the first vacancy he would 
be promoted as regimental commander, was now impossible, 
because his mother clung so to her only son as the last joy of 
her life; and therefore, in spite of his disinclination to remain 
‘in Moscow, in the circle of those who had always known him, 
‘notwithstanding his distaste for the civil service, he staid in 
Moscow and accepted a place in the civil section, and, giving up 
the uniform which he so loved, he settled down with his mother 
and Sonya in a modest apartment on the Sivtsevoi Vrazhek. 
Natasha and Pierre were at this time living at Petersburg, 
and had not the least idea of Nikolai’s position. Nikolai, who 
had already had some money from ‘his brother-in-law, strove 
to hide from him his unhappy situation. His position was 
rendered peculiarly hard because, with his twelve hundred 
_tubles salary, he was not only obliged to support himself, 


266 WAR AND PEACE. 


Sonya, and his mother, but he was obliged to live in sucha 
way that his mother would not suspect that they were poor. 
The countess could not conceive of any existence without 
those conditions of luxury to which she had been accustomed 
from childhood; and without a suspicion that it was hard for 
her son, she was continually requiring a carriage, though they 
had none, to send for a friend ; or some rich delicacy for her. 
self, or wine for her son, or money to send some gift for a 
surprise to Natasha, Sonya, or Nikolai himself. 

Sonya had charge of the domestic arrangements, waited on 
her aunt, read aloud to her, endured her whims and her secret 
ill will, and aided Nikolai in hiding from the old countess the 
condition of poverty to which they were reduced. 

Nikolai felt that he owed Sonya a heavier debt of gratitude 
than he could ever repay for all that she had done for his 
mother; he admired her patience and devotion, but he tried to 
avoid her. | 

In the depths of his heart, he, as it were, reproached her for 
her very perfection, and because there was nothing for which 
to reproach her. She had every quality which people prize; 
but still there was lacking the something which would have 
compelled him to love her. And he felt that the more he 
prized her, the less he loved her. He had taken her at her 
word when she wrote the letter releasing him from his prom: 
ise, and now he treated her as though all that had taken place 
between them had been long, long forgotten, and could never 
by any chance return. 

Nikolai’s condition grew worse and worse. The idea of 
saving something from his salary became a dream with him. 
Instead of laying up anything, he was driven by his mother’s 
constant demands upon him to incur petty debts. ‘There 
seemed to be no way out of his difficulties. 

The idea of making a wealthy marriage, such as had been 
proposed to him by his relatives, was repugnant to him. The 
only other escape from his situation — the death of his mother 
—never occurred to him. He had no wishes, and he had no 
hope, and in the deepest depths of his heart he experienced a| 
stern and gloomy enjoyment in thus resignedly enduring his 
situation. He tried to avoid his old acquaintances, their con- 
dolence and humiliating offers of assistance; he avoided every _ 
sort of amusement and dissipation, and did not even do any- 
thing at home except play cards with his mother, or pace in 
gloomy silence up and down the room, smoking pipe after pipe. 

He cherished, as it were, this gloomy state, in which alone he 
felt himself capable of enduring his position. 





WAR AND PEACE. 267 


CHAPTER VI. 


EAR.zy in the winter the Princess Mariya came to Moscow. 


From the current gossip of town she learned of the position 
of the Rostofs, and how “the son,was sacrificing himself for 


his mother,” for so it was said in the city. 
“‘T should have expected nothing else from him,” said the 
Princess Mariya to herself, feeling a joyful confirmation of 


| her love for him. 


When she remembered her relations of friendship, almost 


of kinship, to the whole family, she felt it her duty to go to 


see them. But when she remembered her relations to Nikolai 
at Voronezh she dreaded to do so. At length, several weeks 
after her return to the city, she made a powerful effort and 


: went to the Rostofs’. 


Nikolai was the first to meet her, for the reason that the 
countess’s room could be reached only by passing through his. 
When he first caught sight of her, his face, instead of showing 
that joy which the princess had expected to see, assumed an 
expression cold, haughty, and repellent, which the princess 


_had never before seen init. Nikolai inquired after her health, 


conducted her to his mother, and, after remaining five minutes, 
left the room. 

When the princess left the countess, Nikolai again met her, 
and with especial ceremony and reserve ushered her into the 
anteroom. He answered never a word to her remark about 
the countess’s health. 

“What have Ito do with you? Leave me in peace,” his 
look seemed to say. 3 

“‘ Now, what makes hercome round? What does she want ? 
I can’t endure these fine ladies and all their inquisitive ways,” 
he said aloud in Sonya’s presence, evidently not able to restrain 


_his annoyance after the princess’s carriage had rolled away. 


“Oh! how ean you say so, Nicolas!” said Sonya, who could 
scarcely restrain her joy. “She is so good, and maman loves 
her so.” 

Nikolai made no answer, and would have preferred not to 
say anything more about the princess. But from that time 


forth the old countess kept talking about her a dozen times a 


day. 
The countess praised her, insisted on her son going to return 
her call, expressed her anxiety to see her more frequently, but 


268 WAR AND PEACE. 


at the same time, whenever she spoke of her, she always got 
out of sorts. 

Nikolai tried to hold his tongue when his mother spoke of 
the princess; his silence annoyed his mother. 

“She is a very worthy and lovely girl,” she would say, “and 
you must go and call upon her. At all events, you will see 
somebody. It seems to me it must be tedious for you with 
us.” 

“T don’t care to see anybody, mamenka !” 

“A little while ago you wanted to see people, but now it’s — 
‘I don’t care to.’ Truly, my dear boy, I don’t understand 
you. You have been finding it tedious, but now suddenly you 
don’t wish to see any one!” | 

“But I haven’t said it was tedious to me.” 

“Did you not just say that you did not want to see her? 
She is a very worthy girl and .you always liked her, but 
now you find some excuse or other. It’s all a mystery to 
me!” 

“Why, not at all, mamenka !” 

“Tf I had asked you to.do something disagreeable — but no, 
all I ask of you, is to go and return this call! It would seem 
as if politeness demanded it —I have asked you, and now I 
shall not interfere any more, since you have secrets from your 
mother,” 

“But I will go, if you wish it.” 

“Tt’s all the same to me. I wish it for your sake.” 

Nikolai sighed, and, gnawing his mustache, proceeded to lay 
out the cards, trying to divert his mother’s attention to some- 
thing else. 

On the next day, on the third, and on the fourth, the same 
conversation was renewed. . 

After her call upon the Rostofs and the unexpectedly cool 
reception which Nikolai had given her, the Princess Mariya 
confessed to herself that she had been right in not wishing to 
go to the Rostofs’ first. 

“T expected as much,” said she to herself, calling her pride 
to her assistance. “Ihave nothing to do with him, and I only 
wanted to see the old lady, who has always been good to me, 
and who is bound to me by so many ties.” - 

But she could not calm her agitation by these arguments ; a 
feeling akin to remorse tormented her when she remembered 
her visit. Although she had firmly resolved not to go to the 
* Rostofs’ again, and to forget all about it, she could not help 
feeling that she was in a false position. And when she asked 


WAR AND PEACE. 269 


herself what it was that tormented her, she had to confess 
that it was her relation to Rostof. | 

His cool, formal tone did not really express his feelings 
(she knew it), and this tone only covered something. She felt 

that it was necessary for her to discover this something. And 
until she did, she felt that it was impossible for her to be at 
peace. 

' One time in midwinter she was in the schoolroom, attending 
to her nephew’s lessons, when Rostof’s name was announced. 

With a firm determination not to betray her secret and not 
to manifest her confusion, she summoned Mlle. Bourienne 

‘and went down with her into the drawing-room. At her first 
glance into Nikolai’s face she perceived that he had come 
merely to fulfil the duty of politeness, and she firmly vowed 
that she would keep to the same tone in which he treated her. 

They talked about the countess’s health, about common 
acquaintances, and about the latest news of the war, and when 

‘the ten minutes demanded by etiquette had passed, at the end 
of which the caller can take his departure, Nikolai rose to say 
good-by. 

The princess, with Mlle. Bourienne’s aid, had sustained the 
conversation very well; but at the very last moment, just as 
he rose to his feet, she had grown so weary of talking about 
things that interested her not, and the thought why she alone 
had so little pleasure in life came over her so powerfully, that 
she fell into a fit of abstraction, and sat motionless with her 
radiant eyes looking straight ahead and not perceiving that 
he had arisen. 

Nikolai glanced at her, and, feigning not to notice her abstrac- 
tion, spoke a few words to Mlle. Bourienne, and again looked 
at the princess. She sat as before, motionless, and an expres- 
sion of pain crossed her gentle face. 

Suddenly he felt a sense of compassion for her, and a dim 
consciousness that he himself might be the cause of the sorrow 
which was expressed in her face. He was anxious to help 

her, to say something cheering to her; but he could not think 
what to say. 

“‘Good-by, princess,” said he. 

She came to herself, flushed, and drew a long sigh. 

“Oh, I beg your pardon,” said she, as though awakening 
‘from adream. “Are you going already, count ? Well, good- 
by. — Oh, but the pillow for the countess ? ” 

“ Wait, I will fetch it down to you,” said Mlle. Bourienne, 
and left the room. 


i 


270 WAR AND PEACE. 


Both were silent, though they occasionally looked at each 
other. ; 

“Yes, princess,” said Nikolai at last, with a melancholy 
smile. “It does not seem very long ago, but how much has 
happened * since you and I met first at Bogucharovo. How 
unfortunate we all seemed then; but I would give a good deal 
for that time to return again — but what is past, is past.” 

The princess looked steadily into his face with her clear, 
radiant eyes, while he was saying this. She seemed to be 
striving to discover what secret significance his words had, 
that might interpret his sentiments towards her. 

“Yes, yes,” said she. “But you have nothing to regret in 
the past, count. When I think what your life is now, l am 
sure that you will always remember it with pleasure, because 
the self-sacrifice which at the present time you ” — 

“TI cannot accept your words of praise,” said he, hastily 
interrupting her. “On the contrary, I am constantly reproach- 
ing myself; but this is not at all an interesting or amusing 
subject of conversation.” 

And again his eyes assumed their former expression of 
reserve and coldness. 

But the princess had once more seen in him that man whom 
she had known and loved, and she was now talking only with 
that man. 

“JT thought you would permit me to say this to you,” said 
she. “You and I have been brought so near together, —and 
your family —and I thought that you would not consider my 
sympathy out of place; but I was mistaken,” said shev Her 
voice suddenly trembled. “I do not know why,” she continued, 
correcting herself, “you were so different before, and ” — 

“There are a thousand reasons why” —he laid a special stress 
on the word why— “I thank you, princess,” said he gently. 
“Sometimes it is hard” — 

“So that is the reason, then, that is the reason,” said a voice 
in the Princess’ Mariya’s heart. “No, it was not alone his 
merry, kind, and open eyes, not alone his handsome exterior, 
that I loved in him; I suspected his nobility, firmness, and — 
sacrificing heart,” said she to herself. “Yes, now he is poor, 
and I am rich. — Yes, that, then, was the sole reason. Yes, if 
it were not that ” — 

And, as she remembered his former gentleness, and looked 
now into his kind and melancholy face, she suddenly realized — 
the reason of his coolness. 


* Russian: “How much water has flowed.” - 


WAR AND PEACE. 271 


« Why is it, count, why isit?” she suddenly almost screamed, 
and involuntarily came closer:'to him. “ Why is it? tell me. 
You ought to tell me.” 

He was silent. 

“J don’t know, count, what your why is,” she went on to 
say — “But it. is hard for me too, for me — I confess it to you. 
For some reason you wish to deprive me of your old friend- 

ship. And this pains me.” 
The tears were in her eyes and in her voice. . 
“T have so little happiness in life that every loss is hard 
for me to bear. Excuse me — good-by.” 

She suddenly burst into tears, and started to leave the 
room. 

“Princess! Wait! for God’s sake!” he cried, trying to 
detain her. “Princess!” | 
She looked around. For several seconds they looked into 
each other’s eyes, each in silence, and what had been distant 
te impossible, suddenly became near, possible, and inevi- 
table. 


CHAPTER VII. 


In the autumn of the year 1813, Nikolai was married to the 
Princess Mariya, and went with his wife, his mother, and 
Sonya to live at Luisiya Gorui. 

In the course of four years, without selling any of his wife’s 
property, he settled the last of his debts, and, having inherited 
a. small estate by the death of a cousin, he also paid back what 
he had borrowed of Pierre. 

Three years later still, in 1820, Nikolai had so managed his 
pecuniary affairs that he had purchased a small estate adjoining 
Luisiya Gorui, and was in negotiations for repurchasing Otra- 
dnoye, which was one of his favorite dreams. 

Having been forced by necessity to manage his own estate, 
he quickly grew so passionately interested in farming that it 
came to be his favorite and almost exclusive occupation. 

Nikolai was a farmer of the simple old-fashioned school ; * he 
liked not innovations, especially the English ones, which at 
that time were coming into vogue; laughed at theoretical 
works on farming, disliked machinery, expensive processes, 
the sowing of costly grains, and as a general thing had no 


* Prastoi khozydin. simple proprietor, landowner, householder, etc, 


2 WAR AND PEACE. 


patience with occupying himself with only one side of farm. 
ing. He always kept before his eyes the idea of the estate as 
a whole, and favored no part of it to the exclusion of the 
rest. 

The chief element of success in an estate was not the azote 
and the oxygen found in the soil and in the atmosphere, or 
any especial form of plough or manure, but rather the principal 
instrument by means of which the oxygen and the nitrogen 
and the manure and the plough act, —the muzhik — the work- 
ing peasant. 

When Nikolai took up the care of his estate and began to 
study the different parts. of it, the muzhik especially attracted 
his attention. The muzhik seemed to him not only a tool and 
instrument, but the object and judge. From the very first he 
studied the muzhik, striving to comprehend what he wanted, 
what he considered good and bad, and only pretended to give 
orders and lay out work, while in reality he was learning of 
the peasants, both from their ways and their words, and their. 
judgment as to what was good or bad. 

And only when at last he learned to understand the tastes 
and aspirations of the muzhiks, learned to speak their speech, 
and comprehend the secret significance of their sayings, when 
he felt himself one with them, only then did he dare boldly to 
direct them, that is, to fulfil toward them the duties which 
were demanded of him. 

And Nikolai’s management * brought about the most bril- 
hant results. 

When he undertook the management of the estate, Nikolai 
at once unerringly, by some gift of second sight, appointed as 
burmistr, or village bailiff, or as stérosta, or as the peasant 
delegate, the very men who would have been chosen by the 
muzhiks themselves, if the choice had been in their hands, 
and his appointees were never changed. | 

Before he made investigations into the chemical properties — 
of manures, before he entered into the question of “debit and 
credit,” as he laughingly termed it, he learned about the num- ~ 


ber of cattle that the peasants had, and increased it by all the _ 


means in his power. , 
He tried to keep the families of the peasants as large as 
possible, not permitting them to break up.t He kept a strict 


* Khozydistvo. 

+ The communal system of Russia is patriarchal, the head of the family 
having control of all the sons and daughters, married and single, living un- 
der his roof. 


WAR AND PEACE. 273 


oversight upon the lazy, the dissolute, and the, feeble, and 
tried to rid the community of such. During seed-time and 
hay-making and harvest, he gave the same careful attention 
to his own fields and those of his muzhiks. And few propri- 
etors got their seed in so early or averaged such good crops as 
‘Nikolai did. : 

He liked not to have anything to do with the dvorovuie or 
domestic serfs, called them drones, and, as every one said, paid 
no heed to them, and thus spoiled them; when it was neces- 
sary to do anything, or make any disposition concerning a 
domestic serf, especially when it was necessary to punish one, 
he was always undecided, and had to ask the opinion of all in 
the house; only when it was possible to send a domestic serf 
as a soldier in place of a muzhik, he would do so without the 
slightest hesitation. 

But in regard to all the dispositions which he had to make 
concerning the muzhiks, he never experienced the slightest 
hesitancy. He knew that any disposition that he might make 
concerning the muzhiks would be approved by all excepting 
perhaps one or a very few. - | 

Likewise, he never allowed himself to overwork or punish a 
field hand out of any personal whim or caprice, or would he 
ease a man’s labors or reward him simply because such a 
thing constituted his personal desire. He could not have said 
where he got his rule of what was wise and what was unwise 5 
but this rule was firm and inflexible in his heart. 

Yet often, in vexation at sume failure or disorder, he would 
exclaim: “ With this Russian people of ours!” and try to argue 
to his own satisfaction that he could not put up with the 
muzhik. 

But with all the strength of his heart he loved “this Rus- 
sian people of ours,” and their ways, and this reason alone 
made him appreciate and adopt the only way and method of 
managing his estate which could bring him in good results. 

The Countess Mariya was jealous of her husband because of 
this love of his, and regretted that she could not share in it; 
but she could not understand the joys and annoyances which, 
for him, constituted this world so foreign and apart from her 
own. She could not understand why he should be so pecul- 
iarly animated and happy, when, having arisen with the 
dawn and spent the whole morning in the field or the thresh- 
ing-floor, he came back from the sowing, the mowing, or the 
harvest, to drink tea with her. 

She could not understand what should so kindle his enthu 


VoL, 4, — 18. 


974 | WAR AND PEACE. 


siasm as he told of the wealthy and enterprising muzhik 
Matvyei Yermishin, who had spent the whole night with his 
family in carrying sheaves, and who had his corn-stacks 
all made up, while as yet the others had not touched 
theirs. | 

She could not understand why he was so glad, and smiled so 
radiantly, and winked, as he came from the window out upon ~ 
the balcony, while the dense, warm rain fell upon the dry and 
thirsty young oats, or why, when during hay-making or har- 
vest time the wind drove away the thrgatening clouds, he 
would come in from the threshing-floor flushed, sunburnt, and 
sweaty, and with the scent of wormwood and wild gentian in 
his hair, and, gayly rubbing his hands, exclaim: “ Well, now, 
‘ one more short day, and my grain and the peasants’ will all 
be threshed.” 

Still less was she able to understand why he, with his kind- 
ness of heart, with his never-failing readiness to anticipate 
her desires, was almost in despair when she presented to him ~ 
petitions from peasant women or muzhiks who had applied to 
her for relief from some drudgery or other, — why he, this good 
Nicolas, was so obstinate in refusing to do so, and begged her 
sternly not to interfere in what was not her business. She felt 
that he had a special world of his own which he passionately 
loved, and which was governed by laws she could not under- 
stand. 

When, sometimes, in her endeavors to understand him, she 
would speak to him of the service he was rendering in doing 
so much good to his dependants, he lost his temper and re- 
plied: “Not in the least; it never entered my head, and I am 
not doing anything for their good. That is all poetry and old © 
woman’s tales, all this talk about kindness to one’s neighbor. 
What I want is, that our children should not become beggars ; 
what I want is, to get our property on a satisfactory basis 
while I am alive: that is all. And to do that, order is neces- — 
sary, and so is sternness. That’s all there is of it,” said he, 
clinching his sanguine fist “‘—and justice,” he added. “Be-— 
cause if the peasant is naked and hungry, and has only one ~ 
little horse, then he will work neither for himself nor 
for me.” ) 

And there can be no doubt that for the very reason that — 
Nikolai allowed himself not to think that he was doing any- 
thing for others, in the way of a benefactor, that all he did 
was so abundantly successful; his property quickly multi- 
plied; neighboring muzhiks came to him and begged him to 


WAR AND PLACE. 275 


buy them, and, long after he was dead and gone, a devout 
memory of his régime obtained among the peasantry. 

“He was a manager.* He looked after his peasants’ affairs 
first, and then his own. And he did not show too much indul- 
gence either. In one word, he was a manager.” 


CHAPTER VIII. 


One thing sometimes troubled Nikolai in relation to his ad- 
ministration of affairs, and this was his quick temper and a 
propensity, which was a relic of his old life as a hussar,. to 
make use of his fists. At first, he saw nothing reprehensible 
in this; but inthe second year of his married life his views in 
regard to this form of inflicting punishment underwent a 
sudden change. 

One time during the summer the stdrosta of Bogucharovo, 
the successor of Dron, who was now dead, was summoned over 
to Luisiya Gorui charged with various rascalities and_villa- 
nies. Nikolai met him on the porch, and at his first reply the 
sounds of cries and blows rang through the vestibule. 

On going into the house for breakfast, Nikolai joined his 
wife, who was sitting with her head bent low over her em- 
broidery frame, and began to tell her, as his wont was, about 
all that occupied him that morning, and, among other things, 
about the starosta of Bogucharovo. The Countess Mariya, 
turning red, then pale, and compressing her lips, sat with her 
head still bent, and made no reply to her husband’s words. 

“Such an impertinent scoundrel!” exclaimed he, growing 
hot at the mere recollection. “If he had only told me that 
he was drunk—I never saw—but what is the matter, 
Marie ?” he suddenly asked. 

The countess raised her head and tried to say something, 
but again hastily drooped her head, and compressed her lps. 

“What is it? What is the matter, my darling?” 

Plain as the Countess Mariya was, she always grew pretty 
when tears were in her eyes. She never wept because of pain 
or annoyance, but always from melancholy and pity. And 
‘when she wept her liquid eyes acquired an irresistible charm. 

The moment Nikolai took her by the hand, she could no 
longer restrain herself, but burst into tears. 

“Nicolas, I saw —he is at fault, but, oh, Nicolas, why did 
you ?” — And she hid her face in her hands. 

* Khozydin.| 


276 WAR AND PEACE. 


Nikolai turned crimson, made no reply, and, turning away 
from her, began to pace’ up and down the room. He under- 
stood what made her weep; but suddenly he found that he 
could not agree with her in his heart, that what he had been 
used to looking upon since childhood as a customary thing 
was wrong. 

“Ts it her amiability and feminine weakness, or is she 
right?” he asked himself. Not being able to decide this | 
question for himself, he once more looked into her suffering, 
loving face, and suddenly realized that she was right, and that 
he had been wrong even in his own eyes for a long time. 

“Marie,” said he gently, and he came to her, “this shall 
never happen again; I give you my word. Never!” he re- 
peated, in a trembling voice like a lad asking forgiveness. 

The tears rolled faster than ever from the countess’s eyes. | 
She took her husband’s hand and kissed it. : 

“Nicolas, when did you break your cameo?” she asked, — 
for the purpose of changing the conversation, and examining — 
his hand, on which he wore a ring with a Laokoon’s head. 

“To-day ; it’s all the same story. Akh! Marie, don’t speak 
of it again.” He flushed once more. “I give thee my word 
of honor that this sha’n’t happen again. And let this always 
be a reminder to me,” he added, pointing to the broken ring. 

From that time forth, when he had to enter into explana- 
tions with the starostas or overseers, and the hot blood flew } 
into his face, and he began to clinch his fists, Nikolai would 
turn the broken ring round on his finger and drop his eyes | 
before the man who was angering him. However, once or | 
twice a year, he would forget himself, and then, when he came 
into his wife’s presence, he would confess, and again give his 
promise that it should be the last time. 

“ Marie, truly you will despise me,” he would say to her. 
“TI deserve it.” 

“You should go away, go away as fast as you can if you 
find that you have not the strength of mind to restrain your-_ 
self,” said the Countess Mariya, in a tender voice, trying to 
console her husband. 

Nikolai was respected but not liked among the gentry of 
the province. He did not care about the interests of the 
nobility. And on this account some considered him proud; 
others, stupid. ‘ 

During the summer, he spent all his time in the manage-— 
ment of his farms, from the hour that the seed was put in 
until the crops were garnered. 4 


WAR AND PEACE. Del. 


During the autumn, he gave himself up to hunting with the 
same practical seriousness which he showed in the care of his 
estates, and, for a month or two, he would ride out with the 
hounds. 

During the winter, he rode off to visit his other villages, 
and occupied himself with reading. His reading consisted, 


' principally, of historical works, for the purchase of which he 


spent a certain amount each year. He was forming for him- 
self, as he said, a “serious library,” and he made it a rule to 
read through every book which he purchased. 

With a grave face, he would shut himself up in his hbrary 
for this reading, which, at first, he imposed upon himself as a 
duty-; but in time it came to be his ordinary occupation, fur- 
nishing him with a certain kind of satisfaction, and the con- 
sciousness that he was occupied with a serious task. 

Except for the time that he spent out of doors, in the pros- 
ecution of his affairs, during the winter he was mostly in the 
house, entering into the domestic life of the family, and tak- 
ing an interest in the little relations between the mother and 
children. He kept growing closer and closer to his wife, each 
day discovering in her new spiritual treasures. 

Sonya, since the time of Nikolai’s marriage, had been an 
inmate of his house. Some time before his marriage, Nikolai, 
laying all blame on himself, and praising her, had told the 
Princess Mariya what had occurred between him and Sonya. 
He had begged the Princess Mariya to be kind and good to 
his cousin. The Countess Mariya fully realized her husband’s 
fault. She also felt that she was to blame toward Sonya; she 
realized that her own position had influenced Nikolai’s choice, 
and she could not see that Sonya was in any way blameworthy, 
and she wanted to love her; but not only did she not love 
her, but often found bitter feelings against her arising in her 
soul, and she could not overcome them. 

One time she was talking with her friend Natasha about 
Sonya and about her own injustice toward her. 

“Do you know,” said Natasha, — “you have read the New 
Testament a great deal, — there is one place that refers directly 
to Sonya.” 

“ What is that ? ” asked the Countess Mariya, in amazement. 

“<¢ For unto every one that hath shall be given, but from him 
that hath not shall be taken away even that which he hath.” Do 
you remember? She is the one that hath not. Why, I do not 
know ; it seems to me she has no selfishness about her. I 


don’t know, somehow, but it is taken away from her— every- 


978 WAR AND PEACE. 


thing has been taken away from her. I am terribly sorry for 
her sometimes; I used to be terribly anxious for Nicolas to 
marry her, but I always had a sort of presentiment that it 
would never be. She is a sterile flower; you have seen them 
in the strawberry patch, haven’t you? Sometimes I am sorry 
for her, but then, again, I think that she doesn’t feel it as we 
should.” | 

And although the Countess Mariya explained to Natasha 
that these words from the Gospel must have a different mean- 
ing, still, as she looked at Sonya, she agreed with the expla- 
nation which Natasha gave to them. | 

It really seemed to her that Sonya was not troubled by her 
uncomfortable position, and was perfectly satisfied with her 
name of “ sterile flower.” 

It seemed that she did not so much care for any special 
individual as for the family as a whole. Like a cat, she at- 
tached herself, not to the household so much as to the house 
itself. She took care of the old countess, she petted and 
spoiled the children, was always ready to show such little 
services as she could; but all this was accepted unwittingly, 
without any special sense of gratitude. 


The establishment at Luisiya Gorui had now been restored 
to good order, but not on the same footing as it had been dur- 
ing the late prince’s lifetime. The new buildings, begun dur- 
ing the hard times, were more than simple. The enormous 
mansion-house, erected on the original stone foundations, was 
of wood, merely plastered on the inside. The great, spacious 
mansion, with its unpainted deal floors, was furnished with 
the most simple and coarse sofas and easy-chairs, tables and 
chairs made from their own lumber by their own carpenters. 
The house was capacious, with rooms for the domestics, and 
special suites for guests. ; 

The relatives of the Rostofs and Bolkonskys oftentimes 
came to visit at Luisiya Gorui with their families and almost 
a score of horses, with dozens of servants, and would spend 
months there. Moreover, three or four times a year, on the 
name-day or birthday festivals of the host and hostess, a hun- 
dred guests would be present at once for several days. 

The rest of the year the regular life moved in its regular 
channels with the usual occupations — teas, breakfasts, din- 
ners, suppers, supplied from the resources of the estate. 


WAR AND PEACE. 279 


| CHAPTER IX. © 


_ Ir was the eve of St. Nicholas Day, in the winter * — the 
.seventeenth of December, 1820. ; 

_ That year Natasha with her children and husband had come 
early in the autumn to visit her brother. Pierre was in Peters- 
burg, where he had gone on private business for three or four 
weeks, as he said, but where he had already. spent seven. They 
“were expecting him at any moment. 

| On the seventeenth of December the Rostofs had, besides 
‘the Bezukhoi family, Nikolai’s old friend, General Vasili 
-Feodorovitch Denisof, who was now on the retired list. 

On the eighteenth, the day of the name-day celebration for 
which the guests had assembled, Nikolai knew that he should 
‘have to take off his beshmet or Tatar blouse, put on his 
‘dress-coat and tight, narrow-toed shoes, and go to the new 
‘ehurch which he had just built, and then receive congratula- 
‘tions and offer lunch, and talk about the elections and the 
crops; but he felt that on the eve of his name-day he had the 
right to spend his time in the usual way. 

Just before dinner Nikolai had been verifying the accounts 
of the burmistr from the Riazan estate of his wife’s nephew, 
had written two business letters, and had made the round of 
the granaries, the cattle-yard, and his stables. Having taken 
precautions against the general drunkenness which was to be 
expected on the morrow in consequence of it being a capital 

festival, he came in to dinner, and, without having had a 
chance for a few moments of private conversation with his 
wife, he took his seat at the long table set with twenty covers 
for his whole household. 

At the table were his mother, the old Mrs. Byelova, who 
still lived with her, his wife, his three children, their gov- 
erness, their tutor, his nephew with his tutor, Sonya, Denisof, 
Natasha, her three children, their governess, and the little 
‘old Mikhail Ivanuitch, the prince’s architect, who lived at 
Luisiya Gorui on a pension. 

The Countess Mariya was sitting at the opposite end of the 
table. As soon as her husband took his place she knew by 
the gesture with which he took his napkin and quickly pushed 





* Nikola zimnii (as the peasants call it) comes Dec. 5, O. S.,in contradis- 
Bcuop to Nikola lyétnii or St. Nicholas Day in the summer, the 9th (21st) 
; ay. “ 


280 WAR AND PEACE. 


away the tumbler and wine-glass that were set before him, 
that he was in bad humor, as was apt to be the case with 
him especially before soup, and when he came directly from 
his work to dinner. | 

The Countess Mariya knew perfectly well this disposition 
of his, and, when she herself was in her usual good spirits, 
she calmly waited until he should have finished his soup, and 
not till then would she begin to talk with him and make him 
realize that his ill-temper was groundless; but on the present 
occasion she had entirely forgotten this observation of hers; 


it hurt her to feel that he was angry with her without cause, | 


and she felt that she was innocent. 
She asked him where he had been. 
He told her. 


Then again she asked him if he found everything in good 


order. He scowled disagreeably at her unnatural tone, and — 


answered hastily. 

“So I was not mistaken,” thought the Countess Mariya. 
“ Now, why is he vexed with me ?” 

By the tone in which he answered her the Countess Mariya 
detected what she thought was ill will toward herself, and a 
wish to cut short the conversation. She realized that her 
own words had been unnatural, but she could not refrain from 
asking several other questions. 

The conversation during dinner, thanks to Denisof, quickly 
became general and animated, and the Countess Mariya had 
no chance to say anything to her husband. When they left 
the table and went to thank the old countess, the Countess 
Mariya held out her hand and kissed her husband and asked 
him why he was vexed with her. | 

“You always have such strange ideas !—TI had no thought 


of being vexed with you,” said he. But this word always 
said with sufficient clearness to the Countess Mariya: “ Yes, 


IT am angry and I won’t tell you.” 
Nikolai lived so harmoniously with his wife that even 


Sonya and the old countess, who out of jealousy might have- 


been happy to see some discord between them, could not find 
any excuse for reproach; but still they had their moments of 
hostility. Sometimes, especially after their happiest times, 


they were suddenly assailed by the feeling of repulsion and 


animosity ; this feeling was particularly liable to occur when 


the Countess Mariya was with child. She was now in this — 


condition. 
“Well, messieurs et mesdames,” said Nikolai, in a loud and 


WAR AND PEACE. 281 - 


apparently gay tone, —it seemed to the Countess Mariya that 
it was on purpose to hurt her feelings, — “I have been on my 
feet ever since six o’clock. To-morrow I shall have to endure 
a good deal, and now I’m going to rest.” 

And, without saying anything more to the Countess Mariya, 
he went into the little divan-room and lay down on the sofa. 

_ “That’s the way it always is,’ thought the Countess 
Mariya. “He talks with all the rest, but not with me. I 
see, I see that I am antipathetic, especially when I am in 
this condition.” ' 

She looked at her changed figure, and caught sight in the 
mirror of her yellowish pale, thin face, with her eyes more 
prominent than ever. 

And everything seemed disagreeable to her: Denisof’s 
shouts and laughter, and Natasha’s talk, and especially the 
look which Sonya hastily threw after her. 

Sonya was always the first pretext which the Countess 
. Mariya took to excuse her irritation. 

_ After sitting down for a little with her guests, and not 
comprehending a word of what they said, she softly got up 
and went to the nursery. 

The children were on chairs, “going to Moscow,” and they 
begged her to join them. She sat down and played with 
them, but the thought of her husband and his causeless vexa- 
tion tormented her without ceasing. She got up and went to 
the little divan-room, painfully trying to walk on her tiptoes. 

“ Perhaps he is not asleep; I will have a talk with him,” 
said she to herself. 

Andryusha, her oldest boy, imitating her, followed her on 
his tiptoes. The Countess Mariya did not notice him. 

“ Chere Marie, il dort, je crois ; il est si fatigué,” said Sonya 
from the large divan-room ; it seemed to the countess as if 
she met her everywhere! “ Andryusha might wake him.” 

The Countess Mariya looked round, saw Andryusha at her 
heels, and felt that Sonya was right: this very thing made 
her angry, and it was evidently with difficulty that she 
restrained herself from a sharp reply. 

She said nothing, and, affecting not to have heard her, she 
made a gesture with her hand to Andryusha not to make a 
noise, but to follow her, and went to the door. 

Sonya passed through another door. 

From the room where Nikolai was sleeping could be heard 
his measured breathing, so well known to his wife, even to its 
slightest shadow of change. 


282 WAR AND PEACE. 


As she listened to his breathing she could see before her 
his smooth, handsome brow, his mustache, his whole face, at 
which so often she had gazed i in the silence of the night, while 
he was asleep. 

Nikolai suddenly started and yawned. And at that same 
instant Andryusha cried from the door, — 

“ Papenka, mamenka is there!” 

The Countess Mariya grew pale with fright, and started to 
make signs to her son. He became still, and for an instant 
the silence, so terrible to the Countess Mariya, continued. 
She knew how Nikolai disliked being awakened. 

Suddenly in the room were heard fresh yawns, rustling, and — 
Nikolai’s dissatisfied voice said, — 

“Can’t I have a moment’s rest! Marie, is it you? What 
made you bring him here ?” | 
ee I ath came to see if—I did not see him — forgive 
me’ | 
Nikolai coughed, and said nothing more. The Countess | 
Mariya went away from the door, and led her son to the 

nursery. 

Five minutes later, the little, dark-eyed, three-year-old 
Natasha, her father’s favorite, learning that her papenka was 
asleep and her maémenka in the divan-room, ran to her father 
unobserved by her mother. The dark-eyed little maid boldly — 
pushed the door open with a slam, ran on her energetic little | 
stumpy legs up to the sofa, and, after attentively looking at 
her father, who was lying with his back turned towards her, | 
she raised herself on her tiptoes and kissed his hand, on which » 
his head was resting. Nikolai, with a fond smile, turned over. | 

“Natasha! Natasha!” the Countess Mariya was heard say- | 
ing ina terrified whisper outside the door, “ papenka wants 
to get a nap.” 

“No, mamma! he doesn’t want a nap,” replied the little 
Natasha, in a tone of settled conviction. “ He’s laughing.” 

Nikolai put down his feet, sat up, and took his daughter in 
hisarms. ‘Come in, Masha,” said he to his wife. 

The Countess Mariya went in and sat down near her hua | 
band. 

“T did not see that he was tagging behind me,” said she. 
timidly. “That’s the way with me.” | 

Nikolai, holding his daughter in one arm, looked at his wife, 
and, perceiving the apologetic expression in her face, he put | 
his other arm around her and kissed her on the hair. : 

“May I kiss mamma?” he asked Natasha. 


WAR AND PEACE. 288 


Natasha smiled shyly. 

“Again!” said she, with an imperative gesture designating 
the spot where Nikolai should kiss his wife. 

“J don’t know why you should think that I am out of sorts,” 
said Nikolai, answering the question which he knew was in 
his wife’s heart. 

“You cannot imagine how unhappy, —how lonely I am, 
when you are so! It seems to me all the time” — 

“Marie, stop! What nonsense! Aren’t you ashamed of 
yourself?” he asked gayly. ; 

“Tt seems to me that you cannot love me, that I am so plain 


— always — but now — in this con” — 


“ Akh! how absurd you are! Beauty does not make sweet- 


ness, but sweetness makes beauty! Itis only such women as the 


Malvinas who are loved for their beauty. Do I love my wife? 
I don’t love her in that way —but I can’t explain it. With- 


‘out thee — or even if a cat should run between us, I should be 
quite lost and shouldn’t know what to do. Well, then, do I 
Tove my little finger? I don’t love it, but — just try it — cut 


it off” — 

“No, I’m not like that, but I understand you. And so you 
are not vexed with me ?” 

“Oh, yes, I am—horribly vexed,” said he, smiling; then 
getting up and smoothing his hair, he began to pace up and 
down the room. “You know what I was thinking about,” he 
began, now that peace had been made, immediately beginning 
to think aloud in his wife’s hearing. He did not ask whether 
she were ready to listen to him; it was all the same to him. 
If he had any thoughts she must have the same. And he told 
‘ser his intention of inviting Pierre to remain with them till 
spring. 

The Countess Mariya listened to him, made some observa- 
tion, and began in her turn to think her thoughts aloud. Her 
thoughts were about her children. 

“How the woman can be seen in her already!” said she in 
French, alluding to the little Natasha. “You accuse us women 


of being illogical. Well, there she is—she illustrates our 


logic. -I say, ‘Papa wants to get a nap,’ but she says, ‘ No, he 
is laughing.’ And she is right,” said the Countess Mariya, 
with a happy smile. 

“Yes, yes,” and, taking his daughter by his strong hands, he 


lifted her up in the air, set her on his shoulder, holding her 


; 


most absurd happiness. 


by the feet, and began to walk up and down the room with 
her. The faces of father and daughter alike expressed the 


a . : 


284 WAR AND PEACE. 


“But you are apt to be partial. You love this one more 
than the others,” whispered the Countess Mariya in French. 

“But how can I help it ? » I try not to show it.” 

At this instant sounds of slamming doors and steps were 
heard in the vestibule and anteroom, as though there was an 
arrival. 

“Some one has come.” 

“T think it must be Pierre. I’ll go and find out,” said the 
Countess Mariya, and she left the room. | 

During her absence Nikolai permitted himself to give his 
little daughter a gallop around the room. 

All out of breath, he quickly set down the laughing child 
and pressed her to his heart. His gambols reminded him of 
dancing, and, as he gazed into the little maid’s round, radiant 
face, he thought of the future, when he should be a nice old 
man and lead her out and dance the mazurka with her, as his 
own father had once danced Daniel Cooper with his daughter. 

“Yes, ’tis he, ’tis he, Nicolas,” said the Countess Mariya, 
returning to the room after a few minutes. “Now our Natasha 
has got back her spirits. You ought to see how happy she is! 
and how he caught it for having staid so long! But come, 
let us go and see him, come! Do let him go,” said she, look- 
ing with a smile at her daughter, who clung to her father. 

Nikolai started off, holding the little girl by the hand. 

The Countess Mariya remained in the divan-room. 

“ Never, never, would I believe that I could be so happy,” 
she whispered to herself. Her face was radiant with a smile; 
but at the same time she sighed, and a gentle melancholy 
showed itself in her deep eyes. It was as though over and 
above that happiness which she now experienced there were 
another kind of happiness, unattainable in this life, and she at 
that moment involuntarily remembered it. 


CHAPTER X. 


Natasua had been married in the early spring of 1813, and 
in 1820 she had already three daughters and one son—the 
child of her desires, whom she was now suckling. 

She had grown plump and fleshy, so that it would have been 
difficult to recognize in the strong matron the slender, viva- 
cious Natasha of yore. The features of her face had grown 
more marked, and bore an expression of sedate gentleness and 
serenity. Her face had lost all of that ever flashing light of 


WAR AND PEACE. 985 


ynimation which had formerly constituted her chief charm. 
Now it was often merely her face and her bodily presence 
shat was seen, without anything of the animating soul. It 
was only a healthy, handsome, fruitful female. 
_ It was very rarely now that the old fire flashed forth. This 
aappened at times when, as now, her husband returned from a 
journey, or when a child was recovering, or when she and the 
Jountess Mariya talked over old memories of Prince Andrei 
‘she never talked about him with her husband, imagining that 
ae might be moved by some jealousy of such memories), and 
ut the very rare times when something enticed her to sing, 
shough, since her marriage, she had entirely abandoned this 
xccomplishment. And at these rare moments, when the old 
fire flashed forth, she, with the beauty of her mature develop- 
ment, was even more fascinating than before. 
_ Since the time of her marriage, Natasha and Pierre had 
lived off and on at Moscow, at Petersburg, and their Pod-Mos- 
kovnaya estate, and with her mother, or rather with Nikolai. 
The young Countess Bezukhaya was seen little in fashion- 
able society, and those who met her were not attracted by her. 
She was neither genial nor careful of pleasing. It was not 
that she liked solitude —she knew not whether she liked it 
or not, it even seemed to her that she did not — but while en- 
gaged in the bearing and nursing and rearing of children, 
and sharing in each moment of her husband’s life, she could 
not satisfy these demands otherwise than by denying herself 
society. 
All who had known Natasha before her marriage were amazed 
at the change that had taken place in her, as though it were 
something extraordinary. Only the old countess, who knew 
‘by her maternal insight that all Natasha’s impulses of enthu- 
siasm had their origin merely in the need of having a family, 
of having a husband, as she had cried more in earnest than in 
jest that winter at Otradnoye. The mother was amazed at the 
‘amazement of people who did not understand Natasha, and she 
insisted that she had always known that Natasha would be a 
‘model wife and mother. 
- “Only she carries her love for her husband and children to 
extremes,” the countess would say, “so that it even seems 
stupid in her.” 
. Natasha did not follow that golden rule preached by clever 
\men, especially the French, to this effect, that when a young 
lady marries she must not neglect, must not abandon her tal- 
ents, must even more zealously than when she was a girl cul- 


| 
d 





286 WAR AND PEACE. 


tivate her personal adornment, must charm her husband as 
much after as she did before marriage. 

Natasha, on the contrary, abandoned all at once all her 
accomplishments, even the one that was most of an accom- 
plishment—her singing. She abandoned it for the very 
reason that it was an accomplishment. 

Natasha took no pains either with her deportment or the 
elegance of her language, nor did she try to give herself 
graces before her husband, or think about her toilet, or dream 
of not imposing irksome exactions upon her husband. 

She proceeded in direct opposition to this rule. 

She felt that those witcheries which instinct had taught her 
to employ before would now be absurd in the eyes of her hus- 
band, to whom she had surrendered entirely from the first 
minute —that is, with her whole soul, not leaving one single 
corner secret from him. She felt that the bond between her 
and her husband was held not by those poetic feelings which 
had attracted him to her, but by something else, vague and 
undefined, but irresistible, like the union of her own soul and 
body. 

To shake her curls, to put on robrénui,* and to sing ro- 
mances in order to attract her husband to her, would have 
seemed to her as ridiculous as to adorn herself for the purpose 
of giving herself pleasure. 

To adorn herself to please others, possibly, might have been 
pleasing to her—she knew not— but she never did such a 
thing. The chief reason that she did not indulge in singing 
or the witcheries of the toilet, or in using elegant language, 
was that she had absolutely no time to indulge herself in 
these things. 

It is a fact that man has the capaciey of completely im- 
mersing himself in any object, no matter how insignificant that 
object may be. And it is a fact that any such object, however 
insignificant, may expand into infinite proportions,. through 
concentrating the attention upon it. . 

The object in which Natasha was absolutely absorbed was 
her family, that is to say, her husband, whom she had to hold 
so that he would cling to her and his home, —and her children, 
who had to be born, nursed, and reared. 

And the more she studied, not with her intellect but with 
her whole soul, her whole being, into this object which absorbed 
her, the more this object waxed in her estimation, and the 
weaker and more insignificant seemed to her her own powers, 


* French, robe ronde, a kind of dress, fashionable many years ago. 


WAR AND PEACE. 287 


o that she concentrated them on one and the same thing, and 
till did not succeed in accomplishing what seemed to her so 
tecessary. 

The discussions and criticisms on the rights of women, on 
he relations of marriage, on the liberty and the rights of hus- 
yand and wife, although at that period they had not yet begun 
o be called questions, were nevertheless just the same as they 
ire at the present time; but not only did these questions not 
nterest Natasha, but she really failed to understand them. 

These questions, even then just the same as at the present 
ime, existed only for those who looked for nothing but that 
sensual gratification in marriage which husband and wife afford 
sach other: that is, merely the beginning of marriage, and not 
ts whole significance —the family. | 

These arguments and the present-day questions are analo- 
rous to the question how can one get the most possible enjoy- 
nent from dinner? and at that time did not exist any more 
shan they do now for men whose object in eating dinner 1s 
aourishment, and in marriage is raising a family. 

If the object of eating dinner is the nourishment of the 
ody, then the person who should eat two dinners at a sitting 
would perchance attain great enjoyment, but would not attain 
ais object, since his stomach would not digest the two dinners. 

If the object of marriage is a family, then the person who 
should wish many wives (or husbands) would perhaps get 
much enjoyment, but would not in any case be likely to have 
2 family. 

The whole question, provided the object of a dinner is 
nourishment, and the object of marriage is a family, is settled 
3imply by not eating more than the stomach can digest, and 
by a person not having more husbands or wives than are neces- 
ary for a fainily; that is, one. 

Natasha wanted a husband. The husband was given to her. 
And the husband gave her the family. And she not only saw 
‘no need of any better husband, but, since all the energies of 
ther soul were directed toward serving her husband and family, 
‘she could not imagine, and saw no possible amusement in 
imagining, what would have been if things had been otherwise. 
_ Natasha cared not for society in general, but she clung all 
‘the more to the society of her relatives — the Countess Ma- 
Tiya, her brother, her mother, and Sonya. 

She took delight in the society of those whom she could 
be in to see, with unkempt hair, in her morning gown, right 
| a the nursery, with happy face, to show them the yellow 


| 





: 


988 WAR AND PEACE. : 


instead of green stain on the baby linen, and to hear the 
comforting words that now the baby would soon be muck 
better. 

Natasha was so neglectful of herself that her dresses, her 
mode of doing up her hair, her carelessly spoken words, het 
jealousy, —she was jealous of Sonya, of the governess, of 
every woman, whether pretty or plain,— were a common 
subject for amusement for the whole family. : 

The general impression was that Pierre was “under his 
wife’s slipper,” as the saying goes, and this was really so. 

During the very first days of her married life, Natasha laid 
down her demands. Pierre was greatly amazed at this idea 
of his wife’s, which was so absolutely new to him: she in- 
sisted that every minute of his life belonged to her and his 
children; Pierre was amazed at his wife’s demand, but he 
was flattered by it and submitted to it. 

Pierre’s submission lay in his acceptance of the implied 
prohibition of not merely paying attentions to other women, 
but even of talking and laughing with them, of going to the 
club to dinner or for the purpose of merely passing away 
the time, of spending his money on whims, or taking long 
journeys except on business, —and in this category his wife 
included his interest in scientific pursuits, to which she at- 
tributed great importance, though she had no understanding 
of such things. | 

In return for this, Pierre had a perfect right to dispose of 
himself and his whole family as he might please : — Natasha, 
in her own home, placed herself on the footing of a slave 
toward her husband, and the whole house went on tiptoes 
when he was busy reading or writing in his library. Pierre 
had only to manifest any desire, and his wish would be 
instantly fulfilled. He had only to express a desire, and 
Natasha would make haste to have it carried out. | 

The whole house was conducted according to the husband’s 
supposititious commands, in other words in accordance with 
Pierre’s wishes, which Natasha tried to anticipate. The 
style, the place of living, their acquaintances, their inter- 
course with society, Natasha’s occupations, the education of 
their children, — everything was done not merely in accord- 
ance with Pierre’s expressed will, but Natasha strove to find 
out what would elicit hints of his ideas when he was talking. 
And she actually discovered what constituted the essence of 
Pierre’s desires, and when she thus did, she firmly clung to 
what she had once adopted. When Pierre himself showed 





WAR AND PEACE. 289 


jigns of changing his mind, she would turn his own weapons 
wainst him. 

Thus, during the trying time, which Pierre never forgot, 
fter the birth of their first child, which was ailing, and they 
vere obliged three times to change wet nurses, and Natasha 
jell ill from anxiety, Pierre one time told her of the ideas of 
Ztousseau, with whom he was always in perfect -concord, as to 
‘he unnaturalness and harmfulness of wet nurses. 

When the next child was born, Natasha, in spite of the 
»pposition of her mother, the doctors, and her husband him- 
elf, who revolted against her suckling the child, as at that 
jime something unheard-of and harmful, she insisted on 
loing so, and from that time forth she always nursed all her 
shildren. 

_ Very often, in moments of irritation, it would happen that 
1usband and wife would have animated discussions; but long 
ifter the quarrel was forgotten, Pierre would find, to his joy 
ind amazement, not only in what his wife said but in what 
‘he did, his own ideas, against which she had rebelled. And 
jot only would he find his own idea, but find it purified of 
averything superfluous that had been elicited by the excite- 
nent of the argument. 

_ After seven years of married life, Pierre felt a joyous, 
ettled consciousness that he was not a bad man, and‘this 
sonsciousness arose from the fact that he saw himself re- 
lected in his wife. In himself he felt that all that was good 
ind bad was mixed together and confused. But, in his wife, 
mly that which was truly good found expression; all that 
vas not absolutely good was purged away in her. And this 
-eflection resulted not along the line of logical thought, but 
tom another mysterious, proximate reflection. 





CHAPTER XI. 









_ Pierre, two months before, while he was still visiting the 
Rostofs, received a letter from Prince Feodor, urging him to 
some to Petersburg to help decide some weighty questions 
‘hat were agitating the members of a society of which Pierre 
vas one of the most influential members. 

. On reading this letter, Natasha, — for she always read_her 
lusband’s letters, — hard as it was for her to bear her hus- 
yand’s absence, herself was the first to urge him to go to 
2etersburg. Every intellectual, abstract interest of her hus 


VOL. 4. — 19. 


290 WAR AND PEACE. 


band’s she considered of immense importance, even though 
she did not understand it, and she was constantly afraid of 
being a hinderance to this activity of her husband’s. In reply 
to Pierre’s timid, questioning look, on reading this letter, she 
begged him to go, but to make the time of his return as defi- 
nite as possible. And leave of absence of a month was 
given him. ; 

After this leave of absence had expired, a fortnight before, 
Natasha found herself in a state of constant alarm, depres- 
sion, and irritation. 

Denisof, now a general on the retired list, and greatly dis- 
satisfied with the actual state of affairs, had been visiting at 
the Rostofs’ for the past fortnight, and looked upon Natasha 
in amazement and grief, as upon an unlike portrait of some 
once beloved face. Dejected, melancholy looks, haphazard 
replies, and perpetual talk about the children, were all that 
were left of his former enchantress. 

Natasha was melancholy and irritable all the time, espe- 
cially when her mother, her brother, Sonya, or the Countess 
Mariya tried to excuse Pierre, and find reasons for his 
delay. 

‘¢ All nonsense, trivial nonsense,” Natasha would say; “all 
these considerations of his, — leading to nothing, — and all 
these foolish societies,” she would say, in regard to those 
very things of the immense importance of which she was 
firmly convinced. And off she would go to the nursery to 
nurse her only son, the little Petya. — 

No one could tell how consoling, how reasonable this little 
creature of only three months was when he lay at her breast, 
and she felt the motion of his mouth and the snuffling of his 
little nose. This being said to her: “Thou art cross, thou art 
jealous, thou desirest vengeance, thou hast thy fears; but here, 
—TIam he! Oh, yes, Iam he!’ — And there was no answer 
to be made. It was more than the truth! 

Natasha, during those two weeks of anxiety, went so many 
times to her baby for consolation, she made such a to-do over 
him, that she overfed him, and he had an ill turn. She was 
horror-struck at his illness, and at the same time it was the 
very thing that she needed. In caring for him, she more 
easily endured her husband’s absence. 

She was nursing him when a commotion, caused by Pierre’s 
arrival, was heard; and the nyanya, who knew how much it > 
would delight her mistress, came running in noiselessly but 
swiftly, with a beaming face. 


WAR AND PEACE. 991 


| “Has he come?” asked Natasha in a hurried whisper, 

fraid to move lest she should awaken the sleeping infant. ~ 

_ “#e’s come, matushka!” whispered the nurse. 

The blood rushed into Natasha’s face and her feet made an 

‘nvoluntary movement, but it was impossible to jump up and 

jun. The child again opened his eyes and looked up at her. 

a thou here?” he seemed to say, and again smacked his 

lips. 

- Cautiously withdrawing the breast, Natasha rocked him a 

little, and then handed him to the nyanya and ran swiftly to 

‘the door. But at the door she paused, as though her con- 

‘science reproached her for having, in her joy, too hastily given 

‘up the child, and she looked round. The nyanya, with her 

‘elbows in the air, was just putting the baby safely into its 

‘eradle. 

/ “Yes, go right along, go right along, matushka, have no 
fears, go right along,” whispered the nyanya, smiling with the 

familiarity which always exists between nurse and mistress. 

| And Natasha with light steps ran to the anteroom. 

Denisof, with his pipe, coming from the library into the 
hall, now for the first time recognized the Natasha of yore. 
A bright, gleaming light of joy poured forth in streams from 
her transfigured face. 

“He’s come!” she called to him as she flew along, and 
‘Denisof felt that he was enthusiastic over Pierre’s arrival, 
‘though he had never had any great love for him. 

As Natasha came running into the anteroom, she caught 
‘sight of the tall form in a shuba, untying his scarf. 

“Here he is! Here he is! ‘Truly, he is here!” she said 
‘to her own heart, and, flying up to him, she threw her arms 
-around him, pressed him to herself with her head on his 
breast, and then, pushing him away, she gazed into Pierre’s 
| frost-covered, ruddy, happy face. — “Yes, here he is! happy 
and satisfied !’? — 

And suddenly she recalled all the torments of disappointed 

“expectation which she had endured during the last two weeks ; 
‘the radiance of joy beaming from her face was suddenly 
- etouded; she frowned, and a stream of reproaches and bitter 
words was poured out upon Pierre. 
“Yes, it’s very fine for you; you are very elad, very happy! 
- But how is it with me? You’ve had a great longing for your 
children! I nurse them, and the milk was spoilt because of 
; you. —Petya almost died. And you are very gay — yes, you 
are very gay” — 












5) ae WAR AND PEACE. 


Pierre knew that it was not his fault, because it was impos- 
sible for him to return sooner; he knew, that this explosion 
of hers was unbecoming, and he knew that within two minutes 
it would be all over; he knew, chief of all, that he himself felt 
gay and happy. He would have preferred to smile, but he 
had no time to think about it. He put on ascared, timid face, 
and stooped down to her. b | 

“Tt was not in my power— but how is Petya?” | 

“He is all right now! Let us goto him. But aren’t you 
ashamed ? Didn’t you know how I missed you, how I was 
tormented without you ?” — 

“Are you well? ” 

“Come, let us go, come,” said she, not letting go of his 
hand. 

And they went to their rooms. 

When Nikolai and his wife came to inquire after Pierre, he 
was in the nursery and was holding on the huge palm of his 
right hand his babe, now awake, and was tending him. A 
jolly smile. hovered over his broad face with its toothless 
mouth. The storm had long since passed over, and the 
bright sun of joy shone in Natasha’s face as she gazed 
tenderly at her husband and son. | 

“And so you talked everything over satisfactorily with 
Prince Feodor,” Natasha was saying. 

“Yes, admirably.” 

“Do you see, he’s holding it up!” —Natasha meant the 
baby’s head. — “ Well, how he startled me!” 

“And did you see the princess? Is it true that she’s in 
love with that” — 

“Yes, you can imagine ” — : 

At that instant, Nikolai and the Countess Mariya came in. | 
Pierre, not putting down his little son, stooped down and 
kissed them and replied to their questions. 

But evidently, notwithstanding the much that was interest- 
ing that they had to talk over, still the baby in its cap, with 
its vain efforts to hold up its head, absorbed all Pierre’s 
attention. | 

“How sweet!” exclaimed the Countess Mariya, looking — 
at the child and beginning to play with it. “There’s one 
thing I can’t understand, Nicolas,” said she, turning to her 
husband, “and that is, why you can’t appreciate the charm 
of these marvellous little creatures.” 

“T don’t and I can’t,” said Nikolai, looking at the baby 
with indifferent eyes. ‘A lump of flesh. Come, Pierre.” 


WAR AND PEACE. : 293 


“But really he is such an affectionate father,” said the 
‘Countess Mariya, apologizing for her husband. “ Only at 
‘that age, before they are a year old” — . 
“No, but Pierre makes a splendid nurse,” said Natasha. 
“He says that his hand was made on purpose for a baby’s 
back. Just look!” 
_ “Well, not for that alone,” said Pierre suddenly, with a 
laugh, and, seizing the baby, he handed him over to the nurse. 


CHAPTER XII. 





Ar the Luiso-Gorsky home, as in every genuine family, 
there lived together several absolutely distinct microcosms, 
‘which, while each preserved its own individuality and made 
! mutual concessions, united into one harmonious whole. 
Every event that happened to the household was alike glad 
‘or sad —alike important — for all these microcosms ; but each 
‘one had its own personal, independent reasons for joy or sor- 
! row at any particular event. 
Thus, Pierre’s coming was one of these happy, important 
events, and it affected the members of the household in some- 
| what this way : — 

The servants (who are always the most reliable judges of 
their masters, becausé they judge not by words and the 
expressions of feelings, but by actions and the manner of 
life) were glad at Pierre’s return, since they knew that when 
he was there, the count would cease to make the tour of the 
estate every day, and would be jollier and kinder, and still 
more because all would receive rich presents on the holidays. 

The children and governesses were delighted at Pierre’s 
return, because there was no one like Pierre to keep up the 
general life of any occasion. He alone was able to play on 
| the harpsichord that Hcossaise —his one piece !— at. which 
they could dance, as he said, all possible dances, and then 
| besides he would probably make them, too, holiday presents. 

Nikélenka, who was now a thin, sickly, intellectual lad of 
fifteen, with curling flaxen hair and handsome eyes, was glad, 
because “Uncle Pierre,” as he called him, was the object of 
his admiration and passionate love. No one had tried to 
instil in the lad a special love for Pierre, and he had only 
seen him a few times. His aunt and guardian, the Countess 
Mariya, exerted all her energies to make Nikdlenka love her 
husband as she loved him; and Nikdlenka did love his uncle, 





294 ps WAR AND PEACE. 


but his love had an almost perceptible tinge of scorninit. He 
worshipped Pierre. He had no desire to be a hussar or a cava- 
her of St. George; he preferred to be a learned, good, and intel- 
lectual man like Pierre. In Pierre’s presence, his face always 
wore a look of radiant delight, and he flushed and choked 
when Pierre addressed him. He never lost a word that Pierre 
uttered; and afterwards, when with Dessalles or even alone by 
himself, he recalled and pondered over the meaning of ever 
word. 

Pierre’s past life, his misfortunes before’ 1812 (concerning 
which he had formed a vague poetic idea from hints that had 
been dropped), his adventures in Moscow, his imprisonment, 
Platon Karatayef (of whom he had heard from Pierre), his 
love for Natasha (whom also the boy loved with a peculiar 
love), and, above all, his friendship for his father, whom 
Nikolenka did not remember,—ali this made of Pierre a 
hero and a sacred being for the boy. 

From snatches of conversation concerning his father and 
Natasha, from the emotion which Pierre always showed when 
he spoke of the lamented prince, from the guarded tone of 
veneration and affection with which Natasha spoke of him, 
the lad, who was only just beginning to have an idea of love, 
gathered that his father had loved Natasha, and in dying had 
bequeathed her to his friend. 

This father of his, whom the lad did not remember, seemed 
to him a divinity whom it was impossible to picture to him- 
self, and he never thought of him except with an oppression 
of the heart and with tears of tenderness and enthusiasm. 

And this boy also was glad at Pierre’s return. 

The guests were glad, because Pierre was always a man 
full of life, and a bond of union in any sort of society. 

The adult members of the household, to say nothing of his 
wife, were glad of a friend who made life easier and smoother. 

The old women were glad, because of the presents which he 
brought, and principally because his coming gave Natasha 
new life. 

Pierre felt the effect upon himself of these varying views _ 
of the varying microcosms, and hastened to give to each | 
what each expected. 

Pierre, the most abstracted, the most forgetful of men, now, 
by the advice of his wife, took a memorandum, and, without 
forgetting a single item, executed the commissions of her — 
mother and brother, buying such things as the dress for 
Byelova and toys for his nephews, 


WAR AND PEACE. 295 


* When he was first married, this demand of his wife that 
‘he should do all her errands and not forget a single thing 
‘that he had undertaken to purchase seemed very strange to 
‘him, and he was greatly amazed at her grave displeasure 
!when, on his first journey from home, he forgot absolutely every- 
ithing. But afterwards he became used to it. Knowing that 
‘Natasha never ordered anything for herself, and ordered for 
‘the others only when he himself suggested it, he now took a 
boyish enjoyment, quite unexpected to himself, in these pur- 
‘chases of gifts for the whole household, and he never 
‘forgot anything any more. If he deserved reproaches from 
| Natasha, it was solely because he bought needless and over- 
‘expensive gifts. In addition to her other deficiencies — as 
they seemed to the majority — her slackness and negligence 
— qualities, as they seemed in Pierre’s eyes, Natasha had also 
that of excessive frugality. 

_ From the time that Pierre began to live on a grand scale, 
‘and his family demanded large outlays, he noticed, much to 
his surprise, that he spent only half as much as before, and 
that his affairs, which had been in great confusion of late, 
especially through his wife’s debts, were beginning to 
improve. 

It was cheaper to live, because his life was tied down ; 
‘since the most expensive luxury consists in a style of life 
that can at any minute be changed, Pierre no longer went into 
this extravagance, and had no longer any wish to do so. He 
‘felt that his style of life was determined now until death, 
that to change it was not in his power, and consequently this 
style of life was cheap. 

Pierre, with a jovial, smiling face, unwrapped his purchases. 

“How much do you suppose?” he asked, as, like a shop- 
keeper, he unwrapped a roll of cloth. 

Natasha was sitting opposite him holding her oldest 
daughter on her lap, and swiftly turning her shining eyes from 
her husband to what he was exhibiting. 

“Ts that for Byelova? Splendid!” She examined the 
-niceness of the material : — 

“That cost about a ruble, didn’t it ?” 

Pierre told her the price. 

“Too dear,” said Natasha. — “Well, how glad the children 
and maman will be. — Only ’twas of no use to buy that for 
me,” she added, unable to restrain a smile, as she looked ata 
gold comb set with pearls, which were just then becoming 
fashionable. 





296 WAR AND PEACE. 


“ Adele tried to dissuade me: I didn’t know whether te 
buy it or not.” 

“When should I wear it ? ” 

Natasha took it and put it in her braid. “And you 
brought this for Mashenka: perhaps they’ll wear them again. 
Come, let us go.” 

And, having decided upon the disposition of the gifts, 
they went first to the nursery, and then to the countess’s 
room. 

The countess was sitting as usual with Byelova, playing 
grand-patience, when Pierre and Natasha, with their parcels 
under their arms, came into the drawing-room. 

The countess was now sixty years old.. She was perfectly 
gray, and wore a cap which framed her whole face in ruching. 
Her face was wrinkled, her upper lip sunken, and her eyes 
were dimmed. . 

After the loss of her son, followed so quickly by that of 
her husband, she felt herself unexpectedly forgotten in this 
world, —a being without aim or object. She ate, drank, 
slept, sat up, but she did not live. Life left no impression 
upon her. 

She asked nothing from life except repose, and repose she 
could find only in death. But till death should come she had 
to live, that is, employ all her vitality. She exemplified in 
a high degree what is noticeable in very young children and 
very old people. Her life had no manifest outward aim, but 
was merely, so far as could be seen, occupied in exercising 
her own individual proclivities and peculiarities. She felt 
the necessity upon her to eat and drink, to sleep a little, to 
think a little, to talk, to shed a few tears, to do some work, 
to lose her temper occasionally, and so on, simply because she 
had a stomach, brains, muscles, nerves, and a liver. 

All this she did, not because action was called forth by 
anything external, not as people in the full vigor of life do, 
when above and beyond the object for which they are striving 
is the unnoticeable object of putting forth their strength. 

She talked, simply because she felt the physical necessity 
of exercising her lungs, her tongue. She wept like a child, 
because she had to blow her nose and the like. What for 
people in the full possession of their faculties was an object 
and aim, was evidently for her only an excuse. 

Thus in the morning, especially if the evening before she 
had eaten anything greasy, she manifested a disposition to 
show temper, and then she would choose the handiest pretext, | 


WAR AND PEACE. | 297 


Byelova’s deafness. She would begin to say something in a 
low tone of voice from the other end of the room. 

“Tt seems warmer to-day, my love,” she would say in a 
whisper, and when Byelova would reply: “What, has he 
come ?” she would grumble, — 
| “Oh, dear me, * how stupid and deaf!” 

. Another pretext was her snuff, which she complained of, as 
‘being now too dry, now too damp, now badly powdered. 

After these displays of temper her face would show that 
‘there had been an effusion of bile, and her maids had infalli- 
‘ble signs to know when it would be the deaf Byelova, and 
-when it would be that the snuff was too damp, and when she 
‘would have a bilious countenance. 

Just as it required some preparations for her bilious fits, so 
‘also she had to exert herself for her other peculiarities, — the 
pretext for thinking would be “ patience.” 

When she had occasion to shed tears, then the pretext would 
‘be the late count. 
| When she wanted to be anxious, her pretext was Nikolai 
and his health. : 

When she wanted to speak sarcastically, then her pretext 
was the Countess Mariya. 

When she wanted to exercise her voice, —this was generally 
‘about seven o’clock, after her digesting nap, in her darkened 
‘room, — then the pretext was forever the same old stories, 
“which she would always tell to the same audience. 

This state of second childhood was understood by all the 
‘household, though no one ever mentioned it, and all possible 
‘endeavors were made to gratify her desires. Only occasional 
glances, accompanied by a melancholy half-smile, exchanged 
‘between Nikolai and Pierre, Natasha and the Countess Mariya, 
would express the reciprocal comprehension of her state. But 
‘these glances also said something else: they declared that she 
had already played her part in life, that what was now to be 
“geen in her was not wholly herself, that all would at last come 
to be the same, and that it was a pleasure to yield to her, to 
| restrain ourselves for this poor creature who was once so dear, 
who was once as full of life as we ourselves. } 

Memento mori said these glances. Only the utterly depraved 
‘and foolish people and little children would fail to understand 

this, and find cause for shunning her. 





o 


* Bozhe moi. 


298 WAR AND PEACE. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


Wuen Pierre and his wife came into the drawing-room, the 
countess found herself, as usual, absorbed in what she consid- 
ered the intellectual labor of working out her grand-patience, 
and therefore, according to her custom, she spoke the words 
which she was sure to speak on the return of Pierre or her son, 
namely, “Late; late, my dear; we have been expecting you. 
Well, thank the Lord;” and when she was given the presents, 
she said other perfunctory words: “ Wasn’t it too expensive 
a present for me, my dear boy ? Thanks for remembering the 
old lady ” — 

But it was evident that Pierre’s intrusion was distasteful to 
her at that moment because it distracted her attention from 
her unfinished game of grand-patience. She completed the 
laying out of the cards, and then only turned her attention to 
her gifts. 

The gifts consisted of a beautifully carved card-casket, a 
bright blue Sevres cup with a cover and adorned with a pas- 
toral scene, and, finally, a gold snuff-box with a portrait of 
the late count, which Pierre had commissioned a Retersburg 
miniaturist to paint (the countess had been long wishing for 
one). 

She was not now in one of her tearful moods, and therefore 
she looked with indifference on the portrait, and took more 
interest in her card-casket. “Thank you, my dear; you have 
cheered me up,” said she, just as she always said. “ But, best 
‘of all, you have brought yourself back. But you can’t imagine > 
how naughty it was, you ought to give your wife a good scold- 
ing. Why! she was like a crazy person while you were away! 
She hadn’t any eyes or any memory for anything!” said the 
countess in the usual strain. ‘Look, Anna Timofeyevna, see 
what a beautiful casket my dear son has brought to us.” 
Byelova lauded the gifts, and felt of the silk that was her 
gift. | 
Although Pierre, Natasha, Nikolai, the Countess Mariya, 
and Denisof were anxious to talk over many things that they 
were not in the habit of discussing in her presence, not be- 
cause they wanted to keep anything from her, but because 
she was so out of the ordinary current of life that when any 
topic of conversation was brought up in her presence, it was 
always necessary to answer her questions, however untimely, 





WAR AND PEACE. 299 










and repeat for her benefit what had already been many times 
| repeated, — tell her who was dead, who was married, and other 
| things that she could not seem to get through her mind, — they 
sat down as usual to tea in the drawing-room, around the 
1 samovar, and Pierre replied to all the countess’s questions, 
‘which were wholly unnecessary to her, and uninteresting to 
every one else: as to whether Prince Vasili began to show 
‘his age, and whether the Countess Marya Alekseyevna sent 
“any message to her, and the like. | 

Conversation of this sort, though interesting to no one, was 
unavoidable, and lasted all through their tea-time. All the 
adult members of the family were gathered for tea at the round 
table, over which Sonya presided. 
_ The children, the tutors, and the governesses had already 
| finished drinking their tea, and their voices were heard in the 
/adjoining divan-room. 

While the elders were at tea, all sat in their accustomed 
places: Nikolai near the stove, at the little stand, where they 
handed him his glass. The old Borzaya Milka — Milka the 
swift (daughter of Milka I.) —lay on the chair near him, with 
her perfectly gray face, from which occasionally bulged forth 
a pair of great black eyes. Denisof, with his curly hair, his 
mustaches, and side whiskers fast turning gray, sat next the 
Countess Mariya, with his general’s coat unbuttoned. Pierre 
| sat between his wife and the old countess. He was relating 
| what, as he knew, would greatly interest the old lady and be 
| comprehensible to her. He was telling her of the superficial 
« events of the society and about those people who had once 
formed the circle of the old countess’s intimate friends, who, 
‘ in days gone by, had been an active, lively, distinct “ coterie,” 
| but who now were, for the most part, scattered here and there, 
| like herself waiting for the final summons, gathering the last 
« gleanings of what they had sowed in life. 

t But these were the very ones, these contemporaries of hers, 
| who seemed to the old countess the only important and actual 
) world. 

Natasha knew by Pierre’s excitement that his journey had 
been interesting, that he had much that he wanted to talk 
' about, but did not dare to mention in the old countess’s 
+ presence. 
| Denisof, who had not been a member of the family long 
) enough to understand the cause of Pierre’s caution, and, more- 
| over, because of his disaffection was greatly interested in what 
|, was going on in Petersburg, kept urging Pierre to tell about 


300 WAR AND PEACE. 


the trouble in the Semyonovsky regiment, which had just 
then broken out, and about Arakecheyef, and about the Bible 
Society. Pierre was occasionally drawn away and would be- 
gin to tell about these things, but Nikolai and Nastasha would 
always bring him back to the health of Prince Ivan or the 
Countess Marya Anténovna. 

“‘ Now tell me, what is all this nonsense about Hosner and | 
Tatarinof ?” asked Denisof. “Is it going to last always?” | 

“Last always ?’’ screamed Pierre, “it’s worse than ever. | 
The Bible Society has absorbed the whole government.” 

“What is that, mon cher ami?” asked the countess, who | 
had finished drinking her tea, and was now evidently anxious | 
to find some excuse for peevishness after her meal. ‘ What 
is that you said about the government ? I don’t understand.” | 

“Yes, you know, maman,” put in Nikolai, who knew how to | 
translate what was said into language suitable for his mother’s | 
comprehension, “Prince A. N. Golitsuin has started a sociotya 
and he is now a man of great influence, they say.” 

“ Arakcheyef and Golitsuin,” said Pierre, incautiously, 
“are now the real heads of the government. And what a_ 
government! They affect to see plots in everything; they | 
are afraid of their own shadows.” 

“What! Prince Aleksandr Nikolayevitch* in any way blame- : 
worthy! He is avery fine man. I met him once at Marya An- | 
tonovna’s,” said the countess in an offended tone, and she grew | 
still more offended because no one made any further reply. | 
She went on, “ Nowadays, they’re always criticising every- 
body. What harm is there im the Gospel Society ? ” 

And she got up (all the rest also arose), and, with a stern | 
face, sailed into the divan- room, to her own table. 

Amid the gloomy silence that ensued could be heard the 
talking and laughter of the children in the adjoining room, | 
Evidently there was some joyous excitement going on among 
the little ones. ; 

“It’s done! It’s done!” rang out little Natasha’s merry 
shriek above all the others. 

Pierre exchanged glances with the Countess Mariya andl 
Nikolai (his eyes were always on Natasha), and smiled gayly. 

“That is wonderful music!” said he. 

“ Anna Makarovna must have finished a stocking,” said the 
Countess Mariya, 

“Oh, I’m going to see!” cried Pierre, jumping up. “ You 
Know, ” he added, as he paused by the door, “why 1 ee 


* Golitsuin (Galitzin). 





WAR AND PEACE. 301 


Jove that kind of music — they make me know for the first 
time that everything is well. To-day,on my way home, the 
nearer I come, the more afraid Iam. As soon as I come into 
the anteroom, I hear little Andryusha’s voice, and of course I 
know that all’s well.” 

_ “I know, I know what that feeling is,” attested Nikola. 
“But I can’t go with you, for you see those stockings are to 
‘be a surprise for me!” 

Pierre joined the children, and the shouts and laughter 
grew still louder. 

“Well, Anna Makdrovna,” Pierre’s voice was heard saying, 
“now I’ll stand in the middle here, and at the word —one, 
two—and when I say three, you come to me. Clap your 
hands! Now, then, one —two” —cried Pierre. 

_ There was perfect silence. “Three!” and a rapturous shout 
of children’s voices rang from the room. “Once more! once 
more!” cried the children. 

' There were two stockings which, by a secret which she kept 
'to herself, Anna Makdrovna had been knitting at the same 
time, and it was always her habit triumphantly to produce the 
one out of the other, in the children’s presence, when the 
stockings were done. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


Syortiy after this the children came in to say good-night. 
The children kissed all round, the tutors and governesses 
bowed and left the room. Dessalles and his charge were 
‘alone left. The tutor whispered to his charge to go down- 
stairs. 
| Non, M. Dessalles, je demanderai a ma tante de rester,”’ 
replied Nikélenka Bolkonsky, also in a whisper. — “Ma tante, 
let me stay,” pleaded Nikélenka, going to his aunt. His face 
was full of entreaty, excitement, and enthusiasm. 

- The Countess Mariya looked at him and turned to Pierre. 
| «When you are here, he cannot tear himself away,” said 
she. 

“ Je vous le ramenerai tout-a Vheure M. Dessalles ; bon soir,” 
‘gaid Pierre, giving the Swiss gentleman his hand, and then, 
‘turning with a smile to Nikélenka, he said: “Really, we 
oo! had a chance to see each other. Marie, how much he 

is growing to resemble” — he added, turning to the Countess 
‘Mariya. 


J 





Y 


302 WAR AND PEACE. 


“My father ?” asked the boy, flushing crimson,.and survey- 
ing Pierre from head to foot with enraptured, gleaming eyes. 
Pierre nodded, and went on with his story, which had been 
interrupted by the children. 

The Countess Mariya was working on her embroidery ; 
Natasha, without dropping her eyes, gazed at her husband. 
Nikolai and Denisof had got up, asked for their pipes, were 
smoking, and getting an occasional cup of tea of Sonya, who — 
was sitting downeast and in gloomy silence behind the samo- 
var, and asked questions of Pierre. 

The curly-headed, sickly lad, with gleaming eyes, sat unob- 
served by any one in the corner, and merely craned his slender 
neck from his turned-down collar, so as to look toward Pierre, 
occasionally starting, or whispering something to himself, and 
was evidently under the influence of some new and powerful 
emotion. 

The conversation turned on the contemporary gossip about 
the higher members of the government, in which the majority 
of people usually find the chief interest in internal politics. 

Denisof, who was dissatisfied with government on account 
of his lack of success in the service, was rejoiced to learn of 
the follies which, in his opinion, were being committed at that 
time at Petersburg, and his comments on Pierre’s remarks 
were made in keen and forcible language. 

“ Once upon a time you had to be a German: now you must 
dance with Tatawinova and Madame Kwiidener, and wead | 
Kekarsthausen and the hike. Okh! if we could only set our 
bwave Bonaparte upon ’em! He would dwive the folly out of | 
?em! Now, Id like to know what’s the sense of giving the 
Semyonovsky wegiment to a man like Schwartz?” he cried. 

Nikolai, though he had no wish at all to find fault with 
everything, as Denisof did, felt that it was thoroughly digni- _ 
fied and worth his while to make some criticisms on the ZOV- 
ernment, and he felt that the fact that A. was appointed | 
minister in this department, and that B. was appointed gov- 
ernor-general of this city, and that the sovereign said this or | 
that, and this minister something else, and all these things, | | 
were very important. And he considered 1 necessary to take | 
an interest in these things, and to question Pierre. 

Owing to the questions of the two men the conversation aidl| 
not get beyond that general character of gossip concerning the | 
upper spheres of the administration. 

But Natasha, who knew her husband’s every habit and|| 
thought, saw that Pierre had been long futilely wishing to 


WAR AND PEACE. 303 


lead the conversation into another path, so that he might 
speak his mind and tell why he had gone to Petersburg to 
consult with his new friend, Prince Feodor, and she tried to 
help him with a question : — 

How had he got along with Prince Feodor ? 
| “What is that ?” asked Nikolai. 

“Oh, it’s all one and the same thing,” said Pierre, glancing 
‘around him. “All see that affairs are so rotten that they 
cannot be allowed to remain so, and that it is the duty of all 
honorable men to oppose them to the best’of their ability.” 

“What can honorable men do?” asked Nikolai, slightly 
jcontracting his brows. ‘“ What can be done ?” 

“This can”? — 

“Come into fhe library,” suggested Nikolai. 

Natasha, who had been for some time expecting to be called 
‘to nurse the baby, heard the nyanya’s call, and went to the 
‘nursery. ThesCountess Mariya went with her. 

The men went into the lbrary ; and Nikodlenka Bolkonsky, 
‘unobserved by his uncle, went with them, and sat down in the 
‘shadow by the window, at the wr iting-table. 

| “Well, then, what are you going to do?” asked Denisof. 

« Forever visionary 1” exclaimed Nikolai. 

“ This is what,” began Pierre, not sitting down, but striding 
through ‘the room, occasionally pausing “and making rapid 
‘motions with his hands while he spoke. “This is what: — 
‘the state of affairs in Petersburg is like this: the sovereign 
takes no part in anything. He is wholly given over to mysti- 
‘ism (Pierre could not pardon mysticism in any one now). 
All he asks for is to be left in peace, and this peace can be 
given him only by the men sans foi nt loi, who are perfectly 
unscrupulous in their rough and cruel treatment of every one: 
Magnitsky, Arakcheyef, e tutti quanti. You must admit that 
if you yourself were not busy with your management of the 
estate, but merely wanted comfort and peace, the more savage 
your bailiff was, the more quickly you would attain your 
aim,” said he, addressing Nikolai. 

re Well, now, why do you say that ?” demanded Nikolai. 

‘ Well, everything’s going to pieces. Robbery in the courts: 
the army under the rod: discipline — transportation — tortur- 
ing the people — civilization crushed. All the young men 
‘and the honorable are persecuted. All see that this cannot 
goon so. The strain is too great, and there must be a break,” 
said Pierre (as men have always said about the deeds of any 
government, and will always say so long as governments shall 
last), I told them one thing at Petersburg” — 








304 WAR AND PEACE. 


“Told whom ?” asked Denisof. = 


“Why, you know whom,” exclaimed Pierre, giving him a 
significant look from under his brows. “Prince Feodor and — 


all of them. To make rivals of enlightenment and charity is 
a fine thing, of course. The aim is admirable and all that, 
but something else is necessary in the present circumstances.” 


At this moment, Nikolai noticed that his nephew was pres- — 


ent. His face became wrathful; he went over to him : — 
“Why are you here?” 
“Why, let him stay,” said Pierre, taking Nikolai by the 

hand and proceeding: —“‘That’s not all,’ said’ I to them, 


‘something else is necessary. While you stand and wait, this © 


strained cord breaks; while we are all expecting some immi- 
nent change, we ought to be gathering closer together, and 
taking hold of hands, more and more of us, in order to prevent 
the general catastrophe. All that is young and vigorous is 


crowding here and becoming corrupt. One is seduced by — 
women; another, by ambition and grandeur; a third, by van- | 


ity or money; and then they go over to the other camp. 


There are getting to be no independent, free men at all, like - 


you and me. I say — widen the circle of the society: let the 


mot d’ordre be not merely virtue, but also independence and 


activity.’ ”’ 
Nikolai, who had let his nephew remain, angrily moved his 
chair, sat down in it, and while he listened to Pierre he invol- 


untarily coughed and scowled still more portentously. 


“Yes, but what is to be the object of this activity?” he _ 
cried. “And what position do you hold toward the govern-_ 


ment ?” 


“What position? The position of helpers. The society 


might not remain a secret one if the government would give 
us its favor. It is not only not hostile to the government, but 
this society is composed of genuine conservatives. It is a socl- 
ety of gentlemen * in the full meaning of the word. We exist 
merely to prevent Pugachéf ¢ from coming to cut the throats 
of my children and yours, and Arakcheyef from sending me to 
one of his military colonies; for this purpose we have banded 
together, with the single aim of the general welfare and the 
general safety.” 


“Yes, but a secret society must necessarily be harmful and 


prejudicial —is bound to produce nothing but evil.” 


* Dzhentelmenof. , 

+ Emilian Pugach6f, a vagabond Cossack, during the reign of Catherine 
the Great, gave himself out for Peter III., and, after about a year of vary- 
ing success, was captured and quartered in January, 1770. 


in shal 








WAR AND PEACE. 805 


“Why so? Did the Tugendbund, which saved Europe ” 
‘(even then they dared not imagine that it was Russia that 
saved Europe), “did that produce anything harmful? Tw- 
gendbund —that means a society of the virtuous: it was love, 
mutual aid, it was what Christ promised on the cross.” 

| Natasha, who had come into the room in the midst of the 
discussion, looked joyfully at her husband. It was not that 
|She was pleased with what he said. It did not even interest 
her, because it seemed to her that it was all so perfectly sim- 
ple, and that she had known it all long before — it seemed so 
‘to her because she knew so well the source from which it all 
jcame, from Pierre’s mind — but she was pleased because she 
‘looked into his lively, enthusiastic face. 

_ With still more joyful enthusiasm, the lad, who again had 
‘been forgotten by all, gazed at Pierre, craning his thin neck 
from his turned-down collar. Every word that Pierre spoke 
made his heart glow, and, with a nervous motion of his fin vers, 
without knowing what he was doing, he broke the pens and 
pieces of sealing-wax on his uncle’s table. 

“But I beg of you not to think that the German Tugend- 
bund and the one to which I belong are at all alike.” 

“Come, now, bwother, this Tugendbund is well enough for 
the sausage-eaters, but I don’t understand it, and I don’t say 
anything against it,” cried Denisof, in his loud, decisive tones. 
“Kverything’s wotten, and going to wuin, I admit, but as for 
your Zugendbund, I know nothing about it, and I don’t like 
it— give us a weal wevolt,* that’s the talk! Je suis vot’e 
homme.” 

Pierre smiled, Natasha laughed, but Nikolai still further 
knitted his brows and tried to prove to Pierre that there was 
no revolution to be apprehended, and that all the danger of 
which he spoke existed only in his imagination. 

Pierre argued to the contrary ; and as his powers of reason- 
ing were stronger and better trained, Nikolai felt that he was 
driven. into a corner. This still further incensed him, since, 
in the bottom of his heart, not through any process of reason- 
ing, but by something more potent than logic, he knew the 
indubitable truth of his opinion. 

“Well, this what I tell you,” he cried, rising, and with ner- 
Yous motions putting his pipe in the corner and finally throw- 
ing it down. “I can’t prove it to you. You say that every- 
thing is all rotten, and that there will be a revolution: I 
| * A puniin the original: bunt (a revolt, from German Bund, and pro 
‘nounced the same. 

VOL. 4, — 20. 


306 WAR AND PEACE. 


don’t see it; but you say that an oath of secrecy is an essen. 
tial condition, and in reply to this I tell you: You are my 
best friend, —you know it, — but if in founding a secret soci-_ 
ety you should undertake anything against the administra-— 
tion, whatever it was, —I know that 1t would be my duty to 
obey it. Andif Arakcheyef should order me to go against 
you, instantly, and cut you down, I should not hesitate a 
second, but should start. So, then, decide as you please.” 

An awkward silence followed these words. 1 

Natasha was the first to speak: she took her husband’s side 
and opposed her brother. Her defence was weak and clumsy, 
but her object was attained. The discussion was renewed on 
a different topic, and no longer in that hostile tone with which 
Nikolai’s last. words had been spoken. 

When all got up to take supper Nikélenka Bolkonsky went 
to Pierre with pale face, and gleaming, luminous eyes. 

“Uncle Pierre — you — no —if my papa were alive he 
would agree with you, wouldn’t he?” he asked. _ 

Pierre suddenly realized what a peculiar, independent, com- 
plicated, and powerful work must have been operating in this 
lad’s mind during this discussion; and when he recalled what 
had been said, he felt a sense of annoyance that the lad had 
listened to them. However, he had to answer him. 

“T think so,” said he reluctantly, and left the hbrary. 

The lad bent his head, and then for the first time seemed to 
realize what mischief he had been doing on the writing-table. — 
He flushed, and went to Nikolai. 

“ Uncle, forgive me for what I have done. I did not mean 
to,” said he, pointing to the broken pens and pieces of sealing- — 
wax. H 

Nikolai gave an angry start. 

“Fine work, fine work,” said he, flinging the fragments of 
pens and wax under the table. And, evidently finding it hard | 
to restrain the anger that overmastered him, he turned away. ~ 

“ You ought never to have been here at all,” said he. 





CHAPTER XV. : 


At supper, the talk no longer turned on politics and secret 
societies, but, on the contrary, proved to be particularly inter. _ 
esting to Nikolai, owing to Denisof bringing it rcund to 
reminiscences of the war of 1812, and here Pierre was partic- 
ularly genial and diverting. And the relatives parted for the 
night on the most friendly terms. 


WAR AND PEACE. 307 
‘ When, after supper, Nikolai, after having changed his 
‘slothes in his library and given orders to his overseer, who 
‘was waiting for him, returned in his khalat to his sleeping- 
‘room, he found his wife still at her desk: she was writing 
‘something. 

| “ What are you writing, Marie ?” asked Nikolai. 

‘The Countess Mariya reddened. She feared that what she 
‘was writing would not be understood and approved by her 
husband. She would have préferred to conceal from him 
‘what she had been writing, but at the same time she was glad 
that he had found her and that she had to tell him. 

| “Jt is my diary, Nicolas,” said she, —a bluish note-book 
‘written in a fair round hand. 

«A journal!” exclaimed Nikolai, with just a shade of 

irony in his tone, and he took the note-book. It was written 
in French. 
Dec. 16. To-day, Andryusha [her oldest son], when he woke up, did 
not wish to be dressed, and Mlle. Luisa sent for me. He was Ca- 
ipricious and wilful, and when I tried to threaten him, he only grew 
‘the more obstinate and angry. Then I took him to my room, left him 
‘alone, and began to help the nurse get the rest of the children up, but I 
‘told him that I should not love him. He was silent for a long time, as 
‘though in amazement; then he jumped up, ran to me in nothing but his 
little night shirt, and sobbed so that it was long before I could pacity 
him. It was evident that he was more grieved because he had troubled 
me than by anything else! Then when I put him to bed this evening, 
and gave him his card, he again wept pitifully, and kissed me. You can 
do anything with him through his affections. 

“What do you mean by ‘his card’?” asked Nikolai. 

. “T have begun to give the older children cards in the even- 
‘ing, when they have been good.” 

Nikolai glanced into the luminous eyes that gazed at him, 
and continued to turn the leaves and read. In the diary was 
lwritten everything concerning the children’s lives that 
seemed important in the mother’s eyes as expressing the char- 
‘acter of the children, or that suggested thoughts concerning 

their education. These were, for the most part, the most 
insignificant trifles, but they seemed not such to the mother 
or the father when now, for the first time, he read this journal 
-about his children. 
. The entry for the seventeenth of December was : — 
Af 


1 Mitya played pranks at table: papa would not let pastry be given to 
him. It was not given to him, but he looked so eagerly and longingly at 
_ the others while they were eating! I think that it is a punishment not 
“to let him have a taste of the sweets, —only increases his greediness, 
Must tell Nicolas. 


308 WAR AND PEACE. ) 


Nikolai put down the book and looked at his wife. Her 
radiant eyes looked at him questioningly : did he approve, or 
disapprove, of the diary ? There could be no doubt of his 
approval or of his admiration for his wife. 

“Perhaps there was no need-of doing it in such a pedantic 





manner, perhaps it was not necessary at all,” thought © 
Nikolai; but this unwearied, everlasting, sincere effort, the — 


sole end and aim of which was the moral welfare of the chil. 
dren, roused his admiration. If Nikolai could have analyzed 
his feelings, he would have discovered that the chief basis of 


his firm, tender, and proud love for his wife was found in his | 


amazement at her cordial sincerity and her spiritual nature, 
at that lofty moral world in which his wife always lived, but 
which was almost unattainable for him. 


He was proud that she was so intelligent and so good, | 
acknowledging his inferiority to her in the spiritual world, | 


and rejoicing all the more that she in her soul not only 
belonged to him but formed a part of him. | 

“T approve and thoroughly approve, darling,” said he, with 
a meaning look. And, after a little silence, he added: “I 


4 
4 


’ 


ee 


have behaved very scurvily to-day. You were not in the | 


library. Pierre and I had a discussion, and I lost my temper. 
Yes, it’s incredible. He’s such achild. I don’t know what 


would become of him if Natasha did not hold him in leading | 


strings. Can you imagine why he went to Petersburg ?— | 


They have started there a” — 


“Yes, I know,” interrupted the Countess Mariya; “Nata- | 


sha told me about it.” 

“Well, then, you must know,” pursued Nikolai, growing 
hot at the mere memory of the quarrel, “he wanted to make 
me believe that it is the duty of every honorable man to go 
against the government, even though he has taken the oath of 
allegiance. —I am sorry that you were not there. But they 
were all against me, —Denisof and Natasha. Natasha is ludi- 


when there is anything to be decided, she can’t speak her 
own mind.at all. She simply says what he says,” added 
Nikolai, giving way to that vague tendency which men have 


i 
{ 
crous. You know how she keeps him under her slipper, but | 


to criticise their nearest and best friends. Nikolai forgot ~ 


that, word for word, what he said about Natasha might be 
said about him and his wife. 

“Yes, I have noticed it,” said the Countess Mariya. 

“ When I told him that my duty and my oath of allegiance 


were above everything, he tried to prove Heaven knows what, - 


¢ 


i 


: 





i 
| 


WAR AND PEACE. 309 


Pity that you weren’t there, I should like to know what you 
would have said.” 
| Jn my opinion, you were perfectly right. I said so to 
Natasha. Pierre says that all are suffering, persecuted, cor- 
rupt, and that it is our duty to render help to our neighbors. 
‘Of course, he is right,” said the Countess Mariya, “ but he 
forgets that we have other obligations, nearer still, which 
God himself has imposed upon us, and that we may run risks 
‘for ourselves but not for our children.” 

“ There, there, that is the very thing I told him,” cried 
Nikolai, who actually thought that he had said that very 


ithing. “But they made out that this was love to the neigh- 


bor, was Christianity, and all that, before Nikélenka, who 
‘stole into the library and broke up everything there was on 


my table.” 
« Akh! do you know, Nicolas, Nikélenka so often makes me 
anxious,” said the Countess Mariya. “He is such an extraor- 


_dinary boy. And I am afraid that I am too partial to my 
own children and neglect him. Our children have both father 
and mother, but he is absolutely alone in the world. He 18 
always alone with his own thoughts.” 
“Well, now, it seems to me that you have nothing to 
‘reproach yourself with in regard to him. All the most affec- 
tionate mother could do for her son, you have done and are 
doing for him. And of course I am glad of it. .He is a 
splendid, splendid boy. To-day, he listened to Pierre, and 
had no ears for anything else. And you can imagine: as we 
were going out to supper, I look, and lo! he has broken into 
flinders everything on my table, and he instantly told me. I 
never knew him to¢ell an untruth. Splendid, splendid boy,” 
repeated Nikolai, who really, at heart, did not like the lad, 


though he always took pains to call him slévnwi, — splendid. 


“Well, I am not like a mother to him,” said the Countess 


- Mariya; “I feel that I am not, and it troubles me. He’s a 


=~ as 


wonderful lad, but I’m terribly anxious about him. More 
society would be a good thing for him.” 

“Well, it won’t be long; this summer I’m going to take 
him to Petersburg,” said Nikolai. “Yes, Pierre always was 
and always will be a dreamer, a visionary,” he went on to say, 
returning to the discussion in the library, which had evidently 
greatly agitated him. “Now, what difference does it make to 
me that Arakcheyef is not good and all that? What differ- 
ence did it make to me when I was married and had so many 
debts that I might have been put into the sponging-house, and 


310 WAR AND PEACE. 


mother, who could not see it and understand? And then you 
and the children and my affairs? Is it for my own enjoyment 
that I spend the whole day from morning till night in attend- 
ing to business and in the office? No, I know that it is my 
duty to work in order to soothe my mother’s last days, to pay 
you back, and so as not to leave the children-in such a condi- . 
tion of beggary as I-was!” 
The Countess Mariya wanted to tell him that not by bread _ 
alone is manhood nourished, that it was possible to set too 
great store in these affairs of his, but she knew that_it would 
be unnecessary and unprofitable to say this. | 
She only took his hand and kissed it. He accepted this act | 
of his wife’s as approval and confirmation of his words, and, 
after some little time of silent meditation, he went on aloud — 
with his thoughts. | 
“Do you.know, Marie,” said he, “Ilya Mitrofanuitch” ay 
this was their man of business — “came to-day from our 
Tambof estate, and told me that they would give eighty 
thousand for the forest there.” j 
And Nikolai, with animated face, began to speak about the 
possibilities of being very soon able to buy back Otradnoye, 
“If only I live ten years longer, I shall leave the children — in | 
a splendid position.” > | 
The Countess Mariya listened to her husband and under- 
stood all that he said to her. She knew that when he thus | 
thought aloud, he sometimes asked her what he had said, and | 
was vexed to find that she had been thinking of something — 
else. But she had to use great effort over herself, for she was ; 
not in the least interested in what he said. | 
She looked at him, and if she was not thinking of to nda 








else, she had other feelings. She felt an obstinate, tende 
love for this man, though he would never be able to under- | 
stand what she understood, and, as it were, from this veryay 
reason she loved him all the more, with a touch of passionate | 
affection. : 

Beside this feeling, which entirely absorbed her, and made 
her enter into all the details of her husband’s plans, her mind 
was filled with ideas which had no connection with what hes § 
was talking about. She was thinking of her nephew —the.” 
story that her husband told of his excitement at Pierre’s re- — 
marks had powerfully impressed her—and the various char- — 
acteristics of his tender, sensitive nature arose to her mind, | 
and the thought about her nephew made her think of her own’ 
children, She made no comparison between her nephew and F 


if 


WAR AND PEACE. a1] 


1er own children, but she compared her respective feelings 
joward them, and found to her sorrow that there was some- 
jhing lacking in her feeling for Nikolenka. 
- Sometimes the thought came to her that this difference 
yrose from the difference in their ages, but she felt that she 
was blameworthy toward him, and in her heart she vowed 
shat she would do better and would make every effort: that 
is, that during her life she would love her husband and her 
shildren and Nikélenka and all her neighbors as Christ loved 
the human race. 
_ The Countess Mariya’s soul was always striving toward the 
Infinite, the Eternal, and the Absolute, and therefore she 
lsould never rest content. Her face always wore the stern 
expression of ‘a soul kept on a high tension by suffering, and 
becoming a burden to the body. 

Nikolai gazed at her., 
_ “My God! what would become of us if she should die, as 
it sometimes seems must be when her face has that expres- 
sion?” he said to himself, and, stopping in front of the holy 
‘pictures, he began to repeat his evening prayers. 


CHAPTER XVI. 


Narasua and her husband, left alone, also talked as only 
wife and husband can talk, namely, with extraordinary clear- 
ness and swiftness, recognizing and communicating each other’s 
thoughts, by a method contrary to all logic, without the aid 
of reasoning, syllogisms, and deductions, but with absolute 

freedom. Natasha had become so used -to talking with this 
freedom with her husband that the surest sign, in her mind, 
that there was something wrong between her and him was for 
' Pierre to give a logical turn to his arguments with her. When 
he began to bring proofs and to talk with calm deliberation, 
and when she, carried away by his example, began to do the 
same, she knew that they were surely on the verge of a quarrel. 
| From the moment that they were entirely alone, and Na- 
‘tasha with wide, happy eyes went quietly up to him, and 
suddenly, with a swift motion, taking his head between both 
her hands, pressed it to her breast, and said: “Now, thou art 
all mine, mine! Thou wilt not go!” — from that moment 
began that intimate dialogue, contrary to all the laws of logic, 
contrary simply because the talk ran at one and the same 
' time upon such absolutely different topics. 





y 


$12 WAR AND PEACE. 


This simultaneous consideration of many things not only 
did not prevent their clearly understanding each other, but, 
on the contrary, was the surest sign that they understood each — 
other. | 

As in a vision everything is illusory, absurd, and incoherent 
except the feeling which is the guide of the vision, so in this 
intercourse, so contrary to all the laws of logic, the phrases | 
uttered were not logical and clear, while the feeling that | 
gnided them was. | 

Natasha told Pierre about her brother’s mode of life, how 
she had suffered and‘found it impossible to live while he, her 
husband, was absent, and how she had grown fonder than ever _ 
of Marie, and how Marie was in every respect better than she _ 
was. 

In saying this, Natasha was genuine in her acknowledgment 
that she saw Marie’s superiority, but, at the same time, in Say- 
ing this she claimed from Pierre that he should still prefer her | 
to Marie and all other women, and now again, especially after q 
he had been seeing many women in Petersburg, that he should 
assure her of this: fact. 

Pierre, in answering Natasha’s words, told her how unen- . 
durable it was for him to go to dinners and parties with | 
ladies. 

“T had really forgotten how to talk with the ladies,” said | 
he. “It was simply a bore. Especially when I was so busy.” | 

Natasha gazed steadily at him and went on: — 

“Marie! she is so lovely!” said she. “How well she knows | 
how to treat the children! It seems as though she only read 
their souls! Last evening, for example, little Mitenka began 
to be contrary ” — . 

‘“ But how like his father he is!” interrupted Pierre. 

Natasha understood why he made this remark about the | 
hkeness between Mitenka and Nikolai: the remembrance of | 
his discussion with his brother-in-law was disagreeable to him, 
and he wanted to hear her opinion in regard to it. 4 

“Nik6lenka has the weakness of not accepting anything | 
unless it is received by every one. But I apprehend you set 
a special value upon it, pour ouvrir une carriére,” said she, | 
repeating words once spoken by Pierre. 

“No, the main thing is, Nikolai looks upon thought and 
reasoning as amusement, almost as a waste of time,” said | 
Pierre. “Now he is collecting a library, and he has made a 
rule for himself never to buy a new book until he has read ~ 
through what he has already bought —Sismondi and Rousseau — 


| 


WAR AND PEACE. 313 


“nd Montesquieu,” added Pierre with a smile. “ Why, you 
know him as well as I do.” He began to modify his words, 
‘ut Natasha interrupted him, giving him to understand that 
‘his was unnecessary. 

“So you think that he considers pure thought mere 
‘rifling ” — 

«Yes, and for me everything else is mere trifling. All the 


‘time that I was in Petersburg it seemed to me as though I 


saw all men in a dream. When I am engaged in thinking, 


then everything else seems a sheer waste of time.” 


“Akh! what a pity that I did not see you greet the 


| children! Which one do you love most of all ?— Liza, I 
“suspect.” 


“Yes,” said Pierre, and he went on with what was engross- 


‘ing his attention. — “Nikolai says that we have no business 
‘to think. Well, I can’t help it. Not to mention that I felt 
in Petersburg —I can tell you—that if it were not for me, 
everything, all our scheme, would go to pieces, every one was 
‘pulling in his own direction. But I succeeded in uniting all 
‘parties, and, besides, my idea is so simple and clear. You 


see, I don’t say that we ought to act in opposition to this one 
or that one. We may be deceived. But I say: Let those 
who love what is right join hands, and let our whole watch- 
word be action and virtue. Prince Sergii is a splendid man 
and very intelligent.” 

Natasha had no doubt that Pierre’s idea was grand, but 
one thing confused her. This was that he was her hus- 
band. “Can it be that a man so important, so necessary to 
the world, can at the same time be my husband! How did 
this ever come about ?” 

She wanted to express this doubt to him. “ Whoever 
should pass judgment on this question, he would be so much 
more intelligent than them all, wouldn’t he? ” she asked her- 
self, and in her imagination she reviewed the men who were 
very important to Pierre. None of all these men, judging by 
his own story, had such an important effect upon him as 
Platon Karatayef. . 

“Do you know what I was thinking about ? ” she asked. — 
“ About Platon Karatayef! How about him ? Would he 
approve, now ?” 

Pierre was not at all surprised at this question. He under- 
stood the trend of his wife’s thoughts. 

“Platon Karatayef?” he repeated and pondered, apparently 
honestly endeavoring to realize what Karatayet’s Opinion con- 


314 WAR AND PEACE. 


cerning this matter would be. “He would not understand, 
but still I think he would approve — yes!” 

“T love thee awfully!” * said Natasha suddenly. “ Aw- 
fully! Awfully!” | 

“No, he would not approve,” said Pierre after a little 
reconsideration. “What he would approve would be this 
domestic life of ours. He so liked to see beauty, happiness, 


repose, in everything, and I should be proud if I could show 


him ourselves. — Now you talk about parting ! But you can- 
not understand what a strange feeling I have for you after 
being separated from you” — 

“Why, — was it’ — began Natasha. 





“No, not that. I shall never cease to love thee. It would. 


be impossible to love thee more; but this is peculiar. — Well, 
yes !”— But he did not finish his sentence, because their eyes 
met and said the rest. 

“What nonsense,” suddenly cried Natasha, “that the 


honeymoon and real happiness are only during the first part | 


of the time! On the contrary, now is the best of all. If” 


only you would never go away from me! Do you remember — 


how we quarrelled ? And it was always I whé was at fault. | 


Always I. But as to what we quarrelled about, I am sure I 


don’t remember! ” 


“Always about one thing,” said Pierre, smiling, “Jealo”— | 


“No, don’t mention it, I can’t endure it,” cried Natasha, 


and a cold, cruel light flashed into her eyes. “Did you see — 


her?” she added after a little silence. 

“No, and if I had seen her I should not have recognized 
her.” 

They were both silent. 


“Akh! do you know, when you were talking in the 
library, I was looking at you,” pursued Natasha, evidently — 


trying to drive away the cloud which had suddenly risen. 
“Well, you and our little lad are as alike as two drops of 


water.” Our little lad — mdlchik —was what she called her © 


son. “Akh! it is time for me to go to him—I’m sorry to 
have to go!” 
They were silent for several seconds. Then suddenly they 


turned to each other, and each began to make some remark at- 


the same instant. 


Pierre began with self-confidence and ‘impulsive warmth, 


Natasha with a quiet, blissful smile. Their words colliding, 
they both stopped to give each other the chance to speak. 


* Uzhazno: literally, horribly. 


WAR AND PEACE. SLD 


“No, what was it? tell me! tell me!” 
“No, you tell me,—what I was going to say was only 


' nonsense,” said Natasha. 


Pierre went on with what he had begun to say. It was a 


continuation of his self-congratulatory opinion concerning the 


=. 


‘success of his visit at Petersburg. It seemed to him at that 


“moment that he was called to give a new direction to all 


> . See 


. Russian society and to the whole world. 


“T was only going to say that all ideas which have porten- 


tous consequences are always simple. My whole idea con- 
sists in this: that if all vicious men are bound together and 


_ constitute a force, then all honorable men ought to do the 


same. How simple that is!” 


66 Yes.”’ 

“ And what were you going to say ?” 

“Only a bit of nonsense!” 

“No, tell me what it was!” 

“Oh, nothing, a mere trifle!” said Natasha, beaming with a 
still more radiant smile. “I was only going to say some- 
thing about Petya:— To-day the nurse was going to take him 
from me. He began to laugh, then scowled a little and clung 
to me —evidently he thought that he was going to play 
peek-a-boo — Awfully cunning. — There he is crying! Well, 
good-night !” and she left the room. 


At the same time below in Nikdlenka Bolkonsky’s apart- 
ment, in his sleeping-room, the night-lamp was burning as 
always (the lad was afraid of the darkness and they could 
not break the lad of this fault — Dessalles was sleeping 


_ high on his four pillows, and-his Roman nose gave forth the 


measured sounds of snoring). 
Nikdlenka, who had just awakened from a nap, in a cold 


"perspiration, with wide-opened eyes sat up in bed and was 


> = 





_ looking straight ahead. 


A strange dream had awakened him. In his dream he had 
seen himself and Pierre in helmets such as the men wore in 
his edition of Plutarch. He and his uncle Pierre were march- 
ing forward at the head of a tremendous army. This army 
was composed of white, slanting threads, filling the air, like 
the cobwebs which float in the autumn, and which Dessalles 


called le fil de la Vierge —the Virgin’s thread. 


Before them was glory, just exactly like these threads, only 
much stouter. They —he and Pierre — were borne on lightly 


and joyously, ever nearer and nearer to their goal, Suddenly 


316 WAR AND PEACE. 


the threads which moved them began to slacken, to grow con- | 


fused; it became trying. And his uncle Nikolai yitch stood | 


in front of them in a stern and threatening posture. 
“What have you been doing ?” he demanded, pointing to 


j 
; 


| 


his broken sealing-wax and pens. “I loved you, but— 


Arakcheyef has given me the order, and I shall kill the first 
who advances.” 


Nikélenka looked round at Pierre, but Pierre was no. 


longer there. In place of Pierre was his own father, Prince 
Andrei, and his father had no shape or form; but there he 
was, and in looking at him Nikélenka felt the weakness of 
love; he felt himself without strength, without bones, —as it 
were, liquid. His father petted him and pitied him. But 
his uncle Nikolai Ilyitch came ever closer and closer to him. 
Horror seized Nikélenka and he awoke. , 

“Father,” he thought. “Father!” (although there were in 
the house two excellent portraits, Nikélenka had never 
imagined Prince Andrei as existing in human form). “ My 
father was with me and caressed me. He approved of me. 
He approved of Uncle Pierre. Whatever he says I will do. 
Mucius Scevola burnt his hand. But why should I not do as 
much in my life? I know they want me to study, and I will 
study. But when I am grown up then I will do it. I 
will only ask one thing of God: that I may have in me what 


the men in Plutarch had, and I will do likewise. I will do 
better. All will know me, all will love me, all will praise 
me.’ And suddenly Nikélenka felt the sobs fill his chest, and 


he burst into tears. 
“ Htes-vous indisposé ?’’ asked Dessalles’s voice. 
“Non,” replied Nikélenka, and he lay back on his pillow. 


“He is good and kind, I love him,” said he of Dessalles, “but | 
Uncle Pierre! Oh, what a wonderful man! But my father! — 
my father! my father! Yes, I will do whatever he would 


approve.” 


PART SECOND. 
CHAPTER I. 


Tux object of history is the life of nations and of humanity. 
To grasp and express proximately in words —that is, to de- 
pict the life, not of humanity, but simply of a single people, 
1s an impossibility. 

All the historians of former times employed exactly the 
same way of grasping and describing the life of a nation. 
They described the actions of the individuals who ruled’ over 
a nation, and the actions of these individuals, they supposed, 
were an epitome of the activity of the nation. 

To the questions, How could individuals make a whole na- 
tion act.in accordance with their wills, and, How was the will 
of these men themselves controlled ? the historians of old an- 
swered the first by proclaiming a divine will which subor- 
dinated nations to the will of a single chosen man; *and the 
second question, by declaring that this divinity directed the 
will of the chosen man toward a predestined end. 

For those of old times all such questions were answered by 
a belief in the immediate interference of the Divinity in 
human actions. 

The new school of history has in theory abandoned both 
these positions. . 

It would seem that after having abandoned the old faith in 
the subordination of man to the Divinity, and in the doctrine 
of predestined ends to which nations are led, the New History 
ought to study, not the manifestations of power, but the causes 
which are the source of power. 

But the New History has not done this. 

After theoretically abandoning the views of the old school, 
it follows them in practice. | 

In place of men clothed with divine power and governed 
directly by the will of the Divinity, the New History repre- 
sents either heroes endowed with extraordinary, superhuman 
qualities, or simply men of the most varied talent, from mon- 
‘archs to journalists, directing the masses. 

317 


318 WAR AND PEACE. 


Instead of finding in the special, divinely pre-ordained 1no-. 
tives of any nation — Jewish, Greek, or Roman—the motive 
for human action in general, as was the custom of the histo- 
rians of old, the New History discovers its motives in the wel- 
fare of the French, the English, the Germans —and, in its 
loftiest abstraction, in the welfare of the civilized world and 


of the whole of humanity, by which is generally meant the 


nations occupying the little northwest corner of the continent. 

Modern history has abandoned the old theories without 
establishing any new views in place of them, and the logic of 
their position has compelled the very historians who have 
rejected the hypothesis of the divine right of kings and the 
Fatum of the ancients to reach by a different route the same 
point: the assertion (1), that nations are guided by individu- 
als, and (2), that there is a special object toward which the 
nations and humanity are moving. 


In all the works of the most recent historians, from Gibbon | 


to Buckle, notwithstanding their apparent disagreement and 


the apparent novelty of their views, at bottom Tie these two — 


old theories, from which they could not escape. 


In the first place, the historians describe the actions of 


men who, in their opinion, have guided humanity. One 
counts as such only monarchs, generals, and statesmen; an- 
other, besides monarchs, takes orators, men of science, reform- 
ers, philosophers, and poets. . 

In the second place, the historians believe they know the 


end toward which humanity is guided: —to one, that end is | 
the greatness of the Roman, the Spanish, or the French em- | 
pires; to another it is liberty and equality, or the kind of — 


civilization that obtains in the little corner of the globe called 


Europe. 
In 1789 a fermentation begins at Paris; it grows, spreads, 
and results in a movement of peoples from west to east. 


Several times this movement is directed toward the east; it 


meets with a counter-movement from east to west. 
In 1812 it-reaches its tinal limit, Moscow, and with remark- 
able rhythmic symmetry occurs the counter-movement from 


east to west, which, like the former, carries with it the na- 


tions of Central Europe. This return movement reaches to 
the departing point of the preceding wave, Paris, and subsides. 


a Te 


| 
| 


During this twenty-years period a tremendous number of — 


fields remain. unploughed, houses are burned, trade changes 
its direction, millions of men are ruined, are enriched, emi 


grate, and millions of Christians who profess to obey the law 


of love to their neighbors kill one another. 


WAR AND. PEACE. 319 


What does all this mean? What is the cause of this? 
What forced these men to burn houses and kill their fellow- 


men? What were the reasons for these events ? What force 
compelled men to act in this way ? 


Such are the ingenuous, involuntary, and most legitimate 


questions that humanity propounds to itself on meeting with 
‘the memorials and traditions of this movement in the past. 


For a solution of these questions the common sense of hu- 


‘manity looks to the science of history, the aim of which is to 
teach the nations and humanity self-knowledge. | 


If history should assume the old point of view, it would 
reply, “The Divinity, as a reward or as a punishment of his 


people, gave power to Napoleon, and guided his will to the 
accomplishment of the divine purposes.” 


And this reply would be, at any rate, full and clear. One 


‘may or may not believe in the divine mission of Napoleon; for 


‘one who does believe in it everything in the history of that 
time would be intelligible, and there would be no contra- 
diction. 


But the New History cannot reply in this way. Science 
does not recognize the view of the ancients as to the direct 
interference of the Divinity in human actions, and conse- 
quently must give another reply. 

The New History, in answering these questions, says, — 
“You wish to know what the significance of this movement 
was, why it took place, and what forces produced these events ? 
Listen : — 

“ Louis XIV. was a very proud and self-confident man ; 
he had such and such mistresses, and such and such ministers, 
and he governed France badly. | 

“The successors of Louis XIV. were also weak men, and 


‘they also governed France badly, and they also had such and 


such favorites, and such and such mistresses. 
“ Moreover, at that time, certain men wrote certain books. 
“Toward the end of the eighteenth century, there came 


together at Paris a score of men who began to declare that all 


men were free and equal. ‘The result of this was that all over 
France men began to slaughter and ruin each other. These 
men killed the king and many others. 

“ At this same time there was a man of genius, named Napo- 


leon. He was everywhere successful; that is to say, he killed 


/ 


many people, because he was a great genius. 


“ And he went off to kill the Africans (for some reason or 


other), and he killed them so well, and was so shrewd and 


320 WAR AND PEACE. 


clever, that, when he came back to France, he ordered every- 
body to submit to him. 

“And everybody submitted to him. 

“Having made himself emperor, he again went off to kill 
the people in Italy, Austria, and Prussia. | 

“ And there he killed many. 

“But in Russia there was the Emperor Alexander, who de- 
termined to re-establish order in Europe, and, consequently, 
he waged war with Napoleon. But in 1807 they suddenly 
became friends, and in 1811 they quarrelled again, and again 
they killed many people; and Napoleon led six hundred thou- 
sand men into Russia, and conquered Moscow, but afterwards 
he suddenly fled from the city, and then the Emperor Alex- 
ander, by the advice of Stein and others, united Europe into a 
coalition against the disturber of the peace. 

“All Napoleon’s allies suddenly became his enemies, and 
this coalition marched against Napoleon, who had got together 
new forces. ; 

“The allies defeated Napoleon; they entered Paris; they 
compelled the emperor to abdicate the throne, and sent him to 
the island of Elba, without depriving him of his dignities of 
emperor, or failing to show him all possible respect, although 
five years before and a year after that time all regarded him 
as a bandit outside of the law. 

“Then Louis XVIII. began to reign, though up to that 
time the French, and also the allies, had only made sport of 
him. 

“Napoleon, having shed tears in presence of his old guard, 
abdicated the throne and went into exile. 

“Thereupon astute statesmen and diplomatists (especially 
Talleyrand, who managed to anticipate another in sitting down 
in a certain arm-chair, and thereby magnified the boundaries | 
of France) held a discussion at Vienna, and by their discus- 
sions made nations happy or unhappy. 

“Suddenly the diplomatists and monarchs almost quarrelled; 
they were about to set their armies to killing each other again, 
but, at this moment, Napoleon, with one battalion, came back 
to France, and the French, who hated him, immediately all 
submitted to him. 

“ But the allied monarchs were indignant at this, and once 
more set out to fight with the French. 

“And they defeated and sent Napoleon, the genius, calling 
him a bandit, to the island of St. Helena. 

“ And there an exile, separated from those dear to his heart 


WAR AND PEACE. 321 


nd from his beloved France, he died a lingering death on the 
tock, and bequeathed his great deeds to posterity. 

“ Meanwhile, in Europe, a re-action was taking place, and all 
the sovereigns began once more to oppress their peoples.” 

Think not that this is a parody or caricature of historical 
writings. On the contrary, it is the mildest expression of the 
contradictory answers which fail to answer, and are given by 
all History, whether in the form of Memoirs and histories of 
various kingdoms, or Universal Histories, and the new kind, 

Histories of Culture, in vogue at the present time. 

The strangeness and absurdity of these replies are due to 
the fact that the New History is like a deaf man who answers 
questions that no one has asked him. 

If the object of history is to describe the movements of 
nations .and of humanity, then for the first question, and the 
one which, if left unanswered, makes all the rest unintelligi- 
ble, an answer will be as follows : — 

“What force moves the nations ? ” 

_ To this question the New History replies elaborately either 
that Napoleon was a great. genius, or that Louis XIV. was 
very proud, or that such and such writers published such and 
such books. 

All this may, perhaps, be very true, and humanity is ready 
to assent, but it did not ask about that. 

All this might be interesting if we acknowledge the divine 
power, self-established, and always the same, which governs 
its nations by means of Napoleons, Louises, and the writers, 
but we do not recognize this power, and, therefore, before talk- 
ing about Napoleons, Louises, and the writers, it is necessary 
‘to show the connecting link between these men and the move- 
ments of the nations. 

If, in place of the divine power, a new force is to be substi- 
tuted, then it is necessary to explain in what this new force 
consists, since it is precisely in this force that all the interest 
of history is concentrated. 

History seems to take it for granted that this force is a 
‘matter of course, known to all. But, in spite of all desire to 
‘recognize this new force as known, he who studies very many 
‘of the historical writings will, involuntarily, come to doubt 
‘whether this new force, which is understood in so many dif- 
ferent ways, is wholly clear to the uistorians themselves. 


vou. 4.— 21. 


: 
| 
4 


y 





San WAR AND PEACE. 


CHAPTER IL 


Wuat force moves the nations ? | 
Ordinary biographers and the historians of distinct nations 


understand this force as the power inherent in heroes and — 


rulers. According to their writings, events take place exclu- 
sively in accordance with the wills of the Napoleons and the 
Alexanders, or, in general, of those individuals whom the pri- 
vate biographer describes. 

The answers given by historians of this class to the ques- 
tion “ What force moves events?” are satisfactory only so 
long as each event has but one historian. But so soon as histo- 
rians of different nationalities and views begin to describe one 
and the same event, then the answers given by them imme- 
diately become nonsensical; since this force is understood by 


ae 


each one of them not merely in a different way, but often in 


an absolutely contradictory way. 
One historian affirms that an event took place by means of 
the power of Napoleon ; another affirms that it took place by 


means of the power of Alexander; according to a third, it took 


place by means of the power of some third person. 


Moreover, the historians of this class contradict one another _ 


even in their explanations of that force whereon is based the 
power of one and the same man. . 

Thiers, a Bonapartist, «leclares that Napoleon’s power was 
_due to his virtue and genius.- Lanfrey, a Republican, declares 


that it was due to his rascality and skill in deceiving the | 


people. 
Thus the historians of this class, by mutually destroying 


each other’s position, in the same process destroy the con-" 
ception of force producing the events, and give no answer to) 


the essential question of history. 
General historians, who treat: of all nations, seem to recog- 
nize the fallacy of the views held by the special historians in 


regard to the force that produces the event. They will not | 


admit that force to be a power inherent in heroes and rulers, 
but consider it to be the result of many forces variously 
applied. 

In describing a war or the subjugation of a nation, the 
general historian seeks for the cause of: the event, not in the 
power of any one individual, but in the mutual influence upon 
each other of many individuals who took part in the event. 


: 


i. 
f 


WAR AND PEACE. 328 


According to this view, the power of historical personages 
vho themselves represent the product of many forces, it would 
eem, cannot be regarded as the force which in itself produces 
he events. 

And yet the general historians, in the majority of cases, 
nake use of a concept of power as a force which in itself pro- 
luces events and holds the relation to them of first cause. 

/ According to their exposition, the historical personage 18 
mly the product of various forces; next, his power is a force 
producing the event. 

~ Gervinus and Schlisser, for example, and others try to prove 
hat Napoleon was the product of the Revolution, of the ideas 
f 1789, and so forth; and then they say up and down that 
she campaign of ’12, and other events which they disapprove, 
vere simply the results of Napoleon’s niisdirected will, and 
shese very ideas of the year 1789 were hindered in their de- 
relopment in consequence of Napoleon’s opposition. 

“The ideas of the Revolution, the general state of public 
pinion, brought about Napoleon’s power, and at the same 
‘ime Napoléon’s power stifled the ideas of the Revolution and 
jhe general state of public opinion. 

This strange contradiction is not accidental. It is not only 
wising at every step, but froma continuous series of such con- 
radictions all the writings of general history are composed. 
This contradiction results from the fact that on getting into 
she region of analysis the general historians stop half-way on 
sheir route. m 

In order to find the component forces equal to the combina- 
sion or the resultant, it is necessary that the sum of the factors 
should equal the resultant. 

This condition is never observed by the general historian, 
and, therefore, in order to explain the resultant force, they 
‘are necessarily compelled to admit 1m addition to their inade- 
quate components a still unexplained force, which acts supple- 
mentary to the resultant. 

An ordinary historian describing the campaign of 713 or the 
lrestoration of the Bourbons says in so many words that these 
events were brought about by the will of Alexander. 

But the general historian, Gervinus, refuting this view held 
by the crdinary historian, endeavors to prove that the cam- 
paign of 13 and the restoration of the Bourbons had for their 
causes, not alone the will of Alexander, but also the activity 
of Stein, Metternich, Madame de Staél, Talleyrand, Fichte, 
Chateaubriand, and others. 





324 WAR AND PEACE. 


The historian evidently resolved Alexander’s power into its 
factors: Talleyrand, Chateaubriand, and the like. The sum 
of these factors, that is the mutual influence of Chateaubriand, 
Talleyrand, Madame de Staél, and the others, evidently does 
not equal the whole resultant: in other words, the phenome- 
non that millions of the French submitted to the Bourbons. 

From the fact that Chateaubriand, Madame de Staél, and 
others said such and such words to each other show merely 
their mutual relations, but not the submission of millions. 
And, therefore, in order to explain how from this fact of their 
mutual relations resulted the submission of millions, that is 
from factors equal to A alone comes a resultant equal to a 
thousand times A, the historian is inevitably bound to admit 
that same force of personal power, which he professes to reject, 
by calling it the resultant of forces; that is, he is bound to 
admit an unexplained force acting upon the factors. 

This is the very way in which the general historians reason. 
And in consequence of this they contradict, not only the biog- 
raphers, but themselves. 

Inhabitants of the country districts judging by whether 
they wish rain or fine weather, and having no clear compre- 
hension of the causes of rain, say, “The wind has scattered 
the clouds,” or “The wind has brought the clouds.” 

In exactly the same way the general historians: sometimes, 
when they want a certain thing, when it fits in with their 
theory, they say that the power is the result of events; but at 
other times, when it is necessary to prove the opposite, they 
will say that the power produces the events. 

A third class of historians, called the historians of culture, 
following on the track laid down for them by the general his-_ 
torians, recognizing sometimes writers and ladies as forces 
producing events, reckon this force in an entirely different 
way still. «They see it in so-called culture, in intellectual 
activity. | 

The historians of culture are thoroughgoing partisans in 
relation to their kinsfolk, the general historians, since if his- 
torical events can be explained by the fact that certain men 
had such and such «n effect upon one another, then why not 
explain them by the fact that certain men wrote certain 
books ? 

These historians, from the whole monstrous collection of 
manifestation accompanying every phenomenon of life, select — 
the manifestation of intellectual activity and say that this 
manifestation is the cause! 





WAR AND PEACE. 325 


But, notwithstanding all their endeavors to prove that the 


eause of the event lay in intellectual activity, it is only by 


great concessions that we can agree, that there is anything in 
common between intellectual activity and the movements of 
the nations, but we cannot admit in any case that intellectual 
activity directs the activity of men, since such phenomena as 


the cruel massacres of the French Revolution, which were the 
outcome of the doctrine of the equality of men, and the wicked 
wars and reprisals, which were the outcome of the doctrine of 


love, do not support this proposition. | 
But even admitting that all the ingenious hypotheses with 


which these histories are filled are correct, admitting that the 
nations are led by some undetermined force which is called 
the idea, the essential question of history still remains unan- 


swered, since to this original power of monarchs, and the influ- 
ence of contemporaries and other individuals adduced by the 


‘general historians, we must add still this new force of the 
idea, the relation of which to the masses demands to be ex- 
plained. 


We may grant that Napoleon had power and therefore an 
event took place; with some concessions, we may moreover 
grant that Napoleon, together with other influences, was the 
cause of an event; but how the book Contrat Social influenced 


‘the French to destroy each other cannot be understood with- 


out an explanation of the connection between this new force 
and the event. 

Undoubtedly, there exists a connection between all things 
existing at the same time, and therefore there is a possibility . 


of finding some connection between the intellectual activity 


of men and their historical movements, just as this connection 


ean be found between the movement of humanity and trade, 
handicrafts, horticulture, and what not. 


But why the intellectual activity of men furnishes the 
historians of culture with the cause or the expression of 


every historical movement, it is hard to comprehend. Only » 


SS ey 


SS a 


pnoneeenaed 


‘the following reasoning can bring historians to such a con- 


clusion : — 

(1) That history is written by wise men, and it is natural 
and agreeable for them to think that the activity of their 
guild is the ruling element in the movement of all humanity, 
just as it is natural and agreeable for the merchant, the agri- 
culturist, the soldier, to think the same. (This fails to find 
expression simply because merchants and soldiers do not 
write histories.) 


326 WAR AND PEACE. 


And (2) that intellectual activity, enlightenment, civiliza- 
tion, culture, the idea, — all these things are indeterminate 
concepts under which it js very convenient to employ words 
still more vague and therefore easily adapted to any theory. 

But, not to reckon the intrinsic value of this class of his. 
tory (perhaps they may be useful for some people and for 
some purposes), the histories of culture, to which all general 
_ histories are beginning more and more to conform, are signifi- 
cant for this reason, that in developing seriously and in 
detail various religious, philosophical, and political doctrines, 
as the causes of the events, every time when it becomes neces- 
sary for them to describe some actual historical event, as, for 
example, the campaign of 712, they involuntarily describe it 
as the result of power, saying in so many words that this 
campaign was the result of Napoleon’s will! 

Speaking in this way, the historians of culture unwittingly 
contradict themselves, or prove that the new force which they 
have discovered does not explain historical events, but that 
the only means of understanding history is to admit that’ 
very same power which they affect to disclaim. 


CHAPTER III. 


A LOCOMOTIVE is in motion. 
The question is asked, What makes it move ? 
The peasant answers, "Tis the devil moves it. ; 


Another says that the locomotive goes because the wheels | 


are in motion. . . 
A third affirms that the cause of the motion is to be found 
in the smoke that is borne away by the wind. 


The peasant sticks to his opinion. In order to refute him, — 


some one must prove to him that there is no devil, or an- 


other peasant must explain to him that it is not the devil, but | 


a German, who makes the locomotive go. 


Only then because of the contradictions will it be seen that 


they cannot both be right. 


But the one who says that the cause is the movement of _ 
the wheels contradicts himself, since, if he enters into the. 


region of analysis, he must go further and further: he must 
explain the cause of the motion of the wheels. And until he 
finds the ultimate cause of the motion of the locomotive in 


the power of compressed steam, he will not have the right to 


pause in his search for the cause. 


/ 


| 


* 
| 
| 
} 
' 





' 
: 
i 


smoke borne away. 


WAR AND PEACE. ) 827 


The one who accounted for the motion of the locomotive by 
the smoke borne back had noticed that the explanation re- 
garding the wheels did not furnish a satisfactory cause, and so 
seized upon the first manifestation that attracted his atten- 
tion, and in his turn offered it as the cause. 

__ The only conception capable of explaining the motion of 
the locomotive is that of a force equivalent to the observed 
movement. 

The only conception capable of explaining the movement 
of nations is that of a force equal to the whole movement of 
‘the nations. : 

And yet the forces assumed by the different historians to 
‘satisfy this conception are perfectly different, and in every ~ 
‘case are not equal to the movement under observation. Some 
‘see in it a force independently inherent in heroes, as the 
peasant sees a devil in the locomotive. Others see a force 
proceeding from certain other forces, like the motion of the 
wheels. A third class —an intellectual influence, like the 

So long as histories of individuals are written, — whether 
Cesars and Alexanders, or Luthers and Voltaires, — and not 
the histories of al/, without a single exception of all the men 
who took part in events, there is no possibility of describing 
the movements of humanity without the conception of a force 
which obliges men to direct their activity toward a common end. 
_ And the only conception of this sort known to historians 1s 
Power. 

This idea of Power is the only handle by means of which it 


is possible to manage the materials of history in the present 


iad 


a ——- 


state of the subject; and the one who should break this 
handle, as Buckle did, and not know any other way of dealing 
with historical material, would be deprived of his last chance 
of dealing with it. 

The unavoidableness of the concept of Power in explaining 


‘historical events is shown better than any other way by the 


authors of universal histories and histories of civilization, who 
affect to renounce the idea of power, and yet, inevitably, at 
every step, make use of it. 

Historical science, at the present time, in its relation to 


the questions of humanity, is like money in circulation, — 


bank notes and coin. Biographies and the ordinary histories 
of nations are like bank notes. They may pass and circulate, 
satisfying their denomination without injury to any one, and 


even be of service, so long as the question does not arise 


~ whether their value is assured. 


5328 WAR AND PEACE. 


If only we forget the question how the will of heroes 
brings about events, then the histories of the Thierses will be 
interesting, instructive, and, moreover, will have a touch of 
poetry. . 

But, just as doubt with regard to the actual value of bank 
notes arises either from the fact that since it is so easy to 
make them many of them are made, or because there is a gen- 
eral desire to exchange them for gold, in exactly the same 
way doubt concerning the actual significance of historical 
works of this sort arises from the fact that they are too 
numerous, or because some one, in the simplicity of his heart, 
asks: “By what force was Napoleon able to do this ?” In 

“other words, wishes to have his bank notes exchanged for the 
pure gold of the genuine concept. 

General historians and the historians of culture are like 
men who, recognizing the inconvenience of assignats, should 
resolve, in place of paper, to make coin out of some metal 
that had not the density of gold. And their money would 
actually have the ring of metal, but that would be all. 

Paper notes might deceive the ignorant, but coin which is 
Spurious can deceive no one. 

Now, as gold is only gold when it can be used, not merely 
for exchange, but in practical business, so universal histories 
will become gold only when they will be able to reply to the 
essential question of history: “What is power ?” 

Authors of universal histories contradict one another in 
their replies to this question, and historians of culture ignore 
it entirely and reply to something entirely different. | 

And as tokens resembling gold can only be used among 
men who agree to take them for gold or who know not the 
properties of gold, so the general historians and the historians 
of culture who do not respond to the essential questions of 
history have currency only at the universities and among 
the throng of readers who are fond of “serious books,” as 
they call them. 


CHAPTER IV. 


Havine renounced the views of the ancients as to the 
divinely ordained submission of the will of the people to 
the one chosen man, and the submission of this one will to 
the Divinity, history cannot take another step without being 
involved in contradictions unless it make choice between two 





| 


WAR AND PEACE. 329 


alternatives; either to return to the former belief in the 
immediate interference of the Divinity in human affairs, or 


definitely to explain the meaning of this force which produces 
historical events, and is known as Power. 

To return to the first is impossible; the belief has been 
overthrown, and therefore it is necessary to explain the mean- 


ing of Power. 


Napoleon gave orders to raise an army and go out to battle. 
This notion is so familiar to us, we have become to such a 


‘degree wonted to this view of things, that the question why 
‘six hundred thousand men should go to war because Napoleon 
‘gaid such and such words seems to.us foolish. He had the 
power, and consequently his orders were obeyed. 


This answer is perfectly satisfactory if we believe that the 
power was given to him by God. But, as soon as we deny it, 
we must decide what that power is that one man has over 


others. 


That power cannot be the direct power of the physical 


superiority of a strong being over the weak, — a superiority 
based on the application or threatened application of physical 


force —like the power of Hercules. It cannot be founded 
either on the superiority of moral force, though certain histo- 
rians, in the simplicity of their hearts, declare that historical 
actors are the heroes; that is, men gifted with peculiar force 
of soul and intellect, called genius. 

This Power cannot be based upon the superiority of moral 
force, since, without speaking of heroes like Napoleon, con- 
cerning whose moral qualities opinions are completely at 
variance, history shows us that neither the Louis XIths, nor 
the Metternichs, who governed millions of men, had any spe- 
cial qualities of moral force, but, on the contrary, were, for 
the most part, morally weaker than any one of the millions of 
men whom they ruled. 

If the source of Power lies in neither the physical nor the 
moral qualities of the individual exercising it, then evidently 


the source of this power must be found outside the individ- 


ual, —in those relations between the masses governed and 
the individual possessing the Power. 

In exactly this way; Power is understood by the science of 
Law, the self-same bank of exchange of history which promises 
to change the historical concepts of Power into pure gold. 

Power is the accumulation of the wills of the masses, trans- 
ferred avowedly or tacitly to the rulers chosen by the masses. 

In the domain of the science of Law which is composed of 


: 
. 
dissertations on the requisite methods of building up a State 
and Power, if it were possible to do all this, this explanation 
is all very clear; but in its application to history this defini. 
tion of Power demands explanation. | 
The science of Law regards a State and Power as the an- 
clients regarded fire, as something existing absolutely. For. 
History the State and Power are only phenomena, just as in 
the same way as for the “Physics ” of our day fire is not an 
element but a phenomenon. : 
From this fundamenta] divergence of view between History | 
and the Science of Law, it follows that; Science of Law can 
relate in detail how in~its opinion it would be necessary to 
build up Power, and what Power is existing immovably out-_ 
side of time; but to the historical questions about the signifi- | 
cance of Power modified by time it can give no reply. | 
If Power is the accumulation of wills transferred to a ruler, 
then is Pugach6f the representative of the wills of the masses ? | 
If he is not, then why is Napoleon I. such a representative ? © 
Why was Napoleon III., when he was apprehended at Bou- 
logne, a criminal, and why were those whom he afterwards | 
apprehended criminals ? f 
In palace revolutions, in which sometimes two or three men — 
only take part, is the will of the masses also transferred to | 
the new monarch ? 
‘In international relations, is the will of the masses of the | 
people transferred to their conqueror ? , 
In 1808 was the will of the Rhine Convention transferred — 
to Napoleon ? | 
Was the will of the Russian people transferred to Napoleon 
in 1809 when our troops, in alliance with the French, went to © 
fight against Austria ? 
These questions may be answered in three ways :— | 
(1) By acknowledging that the will of the masses is — 
always unconditionally handed over to this or that ruler 
whom they have chosen, and that consequently every out- © 
break of, new power, every struggle against the Power once 
given over, must be regarded as an infringement of the real | 
Power ; © a5 
Or (2), by acknowledging that the will of the masses is © 
transferred to the rulers conditionally, under known and defi. — 
nite conditions, and by showing that all assaults, collisions, ~ 
and even the destruction of Power, proceed from non-fulfil-_ 
ment of the conditions under which the Power was given to- 
them ; a 


330 WAR AND PEACE. 





aprece o. <3 od 








WAR AND PEACE. ; 331 


Or (8), by acknowledging that the will of the masses is 


transferred to the rulers conditionally, but under unknown 


and undefined conditions, and that the outbreak of many new 
Powers, their conflict and fall, arise only from the more or 


less complete fulfilment of those unknown conditions accord- 


ing to which the will of the masses was transferred from 


. some individuals to others. 


In these three ways the historians explain the relations of 


the masses to their rulers. 


Some historians, not comprehending in the simplicity of 
their souls the question of the meaning of Power, —the 


same ordinary and “biographical historians” of whom men- 


tion has been made above, —seem to acknowledge that the 
accumulated will of the masses is transferred unconditionally 
_to the historical personages, and therefore, in describing any 


Power whatever, these historians suppose that this self-same 


- Power is the one absolute and genuine, and that any other 
force rising in opposition to this genuine Power is not a 


Power, but a breach of Power — violence! 

Their theory, satisfactory for the primitive and simple 
periods of history, when it comes to be applied to the comph- 
cated and stormy periods in the life of the nations, — during 
which simultaneously various Powers rise up and struggle 
together, — has the disadvantage that the legitimist historian 
will try to prove that the Convention, the Directory, and Bona- 
parte were only infringements of Power, while the Republican 
and Bonapartist will try to prove, the one that the Conven- 
tion, and the other that the Empire, was the genuine Power, 
and that all the rest were only infringements of Power. 

Evidently since the explanations of Power given by these 
historians mutually contradict each other, they can prove 
satisfactory only for children of the tenderest growth! 

A second class of historians, recognizing the fallacy of this 


view of history, says that Power is founded on the conditional 


transfer of the accumulated wills of the masses to the rulers, 
and that historical personages have the Power only on con- 
dition of carrying out the program which with tacit con- 
sent has been prescribed by the will of the nation. But what 


goes to make up this program, these historians fail to tell 


us, or, if they tell us, they constantly contradict one another. 
To every historian, according to his view of what consti- 


tutes the object of the movement of the nations, this pro- 
/ gram presents itself in the grandeur, liberty, enlightenment, 


; 


of the citizens of France or some other State. 


832 | WAR AND PEACE. 


But not to speak of the contradictions of the historians, or | 
of what this program is, even granting the existence of one | 
program common to all, still the facts of history almost uni- | 


versally contradict this theory. 


If the conditions under which Power is granted consist in | 
riches, liberty, the enlightenment of the nation, why, then, | 
were the Louis XIVths and Ivan IVths* allowed to live | 
to the end of their reigns, while the Louis XVIths and | 


Charles Ists were put to death by their nations ? 


These historians answer this question by saying that the : 
activity of Louis XIV., being contrary to the program, met 


with its punishment in the person of Louis XVI. 


But why was the punishment not visited upon Louis XIV. | 
and Louis XV.? Why should it have been visited especially | 
upon Louis XVI.? And what is the length of time required | 


for such a visitation ? 


To these questions there is and can be no answer. In the 
same way this view fails to explain the cause of the fact that | 
the accumulated will of the people for several centuries is | 
preserved by the rulers and their successors, and then sud- | 
denly, in the course of fifty years, is transferred to the Con- | 
vention, to the Directory, to Napoleon, to Alexander, to Louis | 


XVIII., to Napoleon again, to Charles X., to Louis Philippe, 
to the republican administration, to Napoleon III. 
In their explanations of these rapidly occurring transfers 


of will from one individual to another, and especially in | 


international relations, conquests, and treaties, these his- 
torians must, in spite of themselves, acknowledge that a part 


of these phenomena are not regular transfers of will, but | 
accidental chances, dependent now upon cunning, now upon | 
the mistakes or the deceitfulness or the weakness of diplo- 


mat or monarch or party director. 


So that the greater part of the phenomena of history — 


civil wars, revolutions, conquests — appear to these historians 
certainly not as the products of the transfers of free wills, 
but as the products of the misdirected will of one man or 
‘several men, in other words, again infringements of Power. 

And consequently historical events, even to historians of 
this class, appear as exceptions to the theory. 

These historians are like a botanist who, observing that 
certain plants come from seeds with dicotyledonous leaves, 


this bifoliate form, and that the palm and the mushroom and 
* Todnn or Ivan the Terrible, of Russia, reigned from 1546 till 1584 


4 


should insist upon it that everything that grew must grow in 





| 


| WAR AND PEACE. 333 


even the oak, which develop to their full growth and have no 
: oh resemblance to the dicotyledons, are exceptions to their 
-theory. 

A third class of historians acknowledge that the will of the 
masses is conditionally transferred to the historical person-: 
‘ages, but assert that these conditions are not known to us. 
They say that the historical characters possess the power 
‘simply because they have to fulfil the will of the masses, which 
has been transferred to them. 

But in such a ease, if the force that moves the nations is 

‘not inherent in the historical individuals, but in the nations 
themselves, then what constitutes the significance’ of these 
‘historical personages ? 
- Historical personages, these historians say, are in them- 
selves the expression of the will of the masses; the activity 
of the historical personages serves as the representative of 
the activity of the masses. 

But in this case the question arises: Does all the activity of 
the historical characters serve as the expression of the will 
‘of the masses, or only a certain side of it ? | 

If all the activity of historical personages serves as the 
‘expression of the will of the masses, as some think, then 
the biographies of the Napoleons, the Catherines, with all the 
details of court gossip, serve as the expression of the life of 
the nations, which is evidently absurd. 

If only one side of the activity of the historical personage 
serves as the expression of the life of the nations, as is 
ithought by other, so-called philosopher-historians, then in 
order to determine what side of the activity of the historical 
\personage expresses the life of the nation, it is necessary first 
fo determine what constitutes the life of the nation. 

Having met with this difficulty, the historians of this sort 
-have invented a most obscure, intangible, and general expla- 
nation, under which to bring the greatest possible quantity of 
.events, and they say that this abstraction covers the object of 
the movements of humanity. The most ordinary abstractions 
‘which are selected by the historians, almost without excep- 
tion, are: liberty, equality, enlightenment, progress, civiliza- 
tion, culture. 

Having thus established as the object of the movement of 
humanity some abstraction or other, the historians study the 
‘men who have left behind them the greatest quantity of 
‘memorials —tsars, ministers, commanders, authors, reformers, 
| popes, journalists, according as these personages, in their 













334 WAR AND PEACE. 


judgment, have contributed to help or to oppose the given 
abstraction. 

But since it has not been shown by any one that the object 
of humanity consisted in liberty, equality, enlightenment, or 
civilization, and as the connection of the masses with the rulers 
and propagators of enlightenment of humanity is based only 
on an arbitrary assumption, that the accumulation of the wills 
of the masses is always transferred to those individuals who 
are known to us, therefore the activity of millions of men, 
who are marching forth, burning houses, abandoning agricul- 
ture, exterminating each other, is never expressed in thea) 
description of the “activity of a dozen men who have never. 
burned houses, had nothing to do with agriculture, and didi} 
not kill their fellow-men. 

History shows this at every step. 1 

Can the fermentation of the nations of the west at the | 
end of the last century, and their eager rush towards the | 
east, be expressed in the activity of Louis XIV., Louis XV.¥} 
or Louis XVL., or their mistresses, their ministers, or in the 
lives of Napoleon, Rousseau, Diderot, Beaumarchais, and the ~ 
others ? | 

Was the movement of the Russian people toward the east, ; 
to Kazan and Siberia, expressed in the details of the sickly j 
character of Ivan IV. and his correspondence with Kurbsky ? | 

Is the movement of the nations at the time of the crusades | 
explained in the life and activity of the Godfreys and the St. 
Louises and their ladies? For us still incomprehensible re-— 
mains what it was that moved the nations from west to 
east, without any~ object, without leadership,—a crowd of 
vagrants, with Peter the Hermit. | 

And still more incomprehensible remains the discontinuance 
of that movement at a time when the reasonable and holy | 
object of the crusades — the liberation of Jerusalem — was so | 
clearly set forth by the historical agents. Popes, kings, and | 
knights incited the people to rally for the hberation of the ~ 
Holy Land; but the people would not go, for the reason that © 
the unknown cause which before had incited them to the | 
movement was no longer in existence. 

The history of the Godfreys and the Minnesingers evi- 
dently cannot in itself express the hfe of the nations. And © 
the histories of the Godfreys and the Minnesingers remain the | 
history of the Godfreys and the Minnesingers, while the his- © 
tory of the lives of the nations and their mainsprings of 
action remain unknown. . 








WAR AND PEACE. BOD 


Still less is the life of the nations explained for us by the 
histories of authors and reformers. 

The history of culture explains for us the awakening of 
the conditions of life and the thoughts of writers and re- 
formers. We learn that Luther had an irascible nature and 


- uttered such and such sayings; we learn that Rousseau was a 
' sceptie and wrote such and such books, but we know not 
why, after the Reformation, men cut each other’s throats, or 
why, at the time of the French Revolution, they put each 


' other to death. If these two kinds of history are welded 





_ together, as some of the most recent historians have done, it 
will still be the histories of monarchs and writers, but-not the 
history of the life of the nations. 


CHAPTER V. 


Tue life of the nations cannot be summarized in the lives 
of a few men, for the bond connecting such persons with the 
nations has not been discovered. ‘The theory that this bond 
of union is based upon the will of the masses transferred to 
historical personages is an hypothesis not confirmed by the 
experience of history. 

The theory of the transference of the will of the masses to 


the historical personages, perhaps, explains many things in 


the domain of Law, and is very possibly essential for its objects, 
but in relation to history, as soon as revolutions, civil wars, 
conquests make their appearance, as soon as history begins, 
this theory no longer explains anything. 

This theory seems to be irrefutable, simply because the act 
of transference of the will of the nation cannot be verified, 
since it never existed. 

No matter what the event may be, or what personage may 
stand at the head of it, theory can always say that the per- 
sonage in question was at the head of the affairs for the rea- 


son that the accumulated will of the masses was transferred 
to him. : 


The answers afforded by this theory to historical questions 
are like the answers of a man who, watching a herd of cattle 
moving about, and not taking into consideration the varying 
quality of the feed in different parts of the field or the whip 


of the drover, should attribute their movement in this or that 
. direction to the animal at the head of the herd. 


“The herd go in that direction because the animal at the 


336 WAR AND PEACE. 


head leads them there, and the accumulated will of all the 
other animals is transferred to this leader of the herd.” 

Thus reply the first class of historians — those who believe 
in the unconditional transference of power. 

“Tf the animals moving at the head of the herd change their 
direction, it is because the accumulated will of all the animals 
is transferred from one leader to another according as this or 
that animal conducts them in the direction chosen by the 
herd.” 

Thus reply the historians who hold that the accumulated 
will of the masses is transferred to rulers under certain condi- 
tions which they consider indeterminate. (In such a method 
of observation it would often come about that the observer, 
drawing his conclusions from the direction taken by the herd, 
would consider certain animals at the side or even at the rear 
as the leaders, owing to changes of direction taken wholly by 
chance !) 

“Tf the animals at the head of the herd constantly change 
about, and if the course of the whole herd constantly varies, 
it is from the fact that, in order to attain the direction which 
we observed, the animals transfer their will to those other 
animals observed by us; and, in order to study the move- 
ments of the herd, we must study all the animals under whose 
influence the herd is led from side to side.” 

Thus argue the historians of the third class, who believe 


that all historical personages, from monarchs to journalists, | 


are the expressions of their own time. 


The theory of the will of the masses being transferred to — 
historical personages is merely a periphrase — only the ques- | 


tion expressed in other words ! 
What is the cause. of historical events ?. Power. 
‘What is power ? 


Power is the accumulated wills of the masses transferred — 


to a given personage. 


j 
| 
1 
| 


Under what conditions are the wills of the masses trans- — 


ferred to a given personage ? 
On condition that the personage expresses the will of the 
masses. 7 


| 


That is, Power is Power. That is, Power is a word, the 


meaning of which is incomprehensible to us. 


If all human knowledge were comprehended within the © 
domain of abstract reasoning, then humanity, having subjected ~ 


to criticism the idea of Power which science gives, would come 


| 


| 
" 


WAR AMD PEACE. gow 


to the conclusion that Power is only a word, and does not 
exist, in reality, at all. 

For the knowledge of phenomena, however, man has besides 
abstract reasoning the tool of experience, by which he tests 

the results of reasoning. And experience declares that Power 
‘is not a mere word, but a thing actually existing. 
- Aside from the fact that without the concept “of Power it is 
‘impossible to describe the united action of men, the existence 
of Power is proven, not only by history, but by the observation 
_of contemporary events. 

Always, when an historical event takes place, there appears 
;one man or several men, in accordance with whose will the 
event apparently took place. 

_ Napoleon III. gives his orders, and the French go to Mexico. 

The King of Prussia and Bismarck give their orders, and 
the troops enter Bohemia. 

_ Napoleon I. gives his orders, and the troops march into 
Russia. 

| Alexander I. gives his Ne and the French submit to the 
‘Bourbons. 

Experience shows us that whatever event has come to pass 
is always connected with the will of one man or several men, 
who gave the commands. 

Historians who, according to the old custom, recognize the 
participation of the Divinity in the affairs of ‘humanity, try 
to find the cause of an event in the expression of the will of 
the individual who is clothed with the Power, but this conclu- 
sion is confirmed neither by reason nor by experience. 

On the one hand, reason shows us that the expression of 
the will of a man —his words — is but a part of the general 
activity expressed in an event, for example, a war or a ‘revolu- 
tion; and, therefore, without the acknowledgment of the exist- 
ence of an incomprehensible, supernatural force —a miracle — 
it is impossible to grant that mere words can be the proximate 
cause of the movement of millions of men; on the other hand, 
if we grant that words can be the cause of an event, then his- 
‘tory proves that in many cases the expression of the will of 
historical personages has been productive of no effect what- 
ever —that is, not only have their decrees been often dis- 
obeyed, but sometimes the exact opposite of what they ordered 
has been brought to pass. 

Unless we grant that the Divinity participates in human 
affairs, we cannot regard Power as the cause of events. 

Power, from the Beant of experience, is merely the 

VOL. 4. — 22. 


i 
‘t 





338 WAR AND.PEACE. 


relationship existing between the expressed will of the indi- 
vidual and the accomplishment of that will by other men. 

To explain the conditions of this relationship, we must first 
of all establish the idea of the expression of will by referring 
it to man and not to the Divinity. 

If the Divinity gives commands, expresses his will, as the 
history written by the ancients would have us believe, then 
the expression of this will is not dependent upon time, or con- 
ditioned by any determining cause, since the Divinity is 
wholly aloof from the event. 

But when we speak of decrees as the expression of the will 
of men who, in their acts, are subject to time and dependent 
upon one another, in order to understand the connection be- 
tween decrees and events, we must establish : — 

1. The condition under which everything happens: con- 
tinuity in time of action, both of the historical movement 
and the person who gives the command ; and 

2. The condition of the inevitable connection between the 
personage who gives the command and the men who carry out 
his command. 


CHAPTER VI. 


Onty the expression of the will of the Divinity, which is 
independent of time, can be related to the whole series of 
events extending over a few years or centuries, and only the 
Divinity, which is unconditioned by anything, can by its own 
will alone determine the direction of the movements of hu- 
manity ; man, however, acts in time, and himself participates 
in events. 

Having established the first neglected condition —the con- 
dition of Time—we shall see that no command can be 
executed’ without the existence of some previous command, 
making the fulfilment of the latter possible. 

A command is never a spontaneous utterance, and it never 
includes in itself a whole series of events ; but each command 
has its source in another, and is never related to a whole series - 
of events, but only to the one moment of the event. 

When we say, for instance, that Napoleon commanded his 
armies to go to war, we combine in one simultaneous expres: 
sion, “command,” a series of consecutive orders, dependent 
one upon another. 

Napoleon could never have decreed the campaign to Russia, 
and he never did decree it. 


WAR AND PEACE. 339 


He gave orders one day to write such and such letters to 

Vienna, to Berlin, and to Petersburg; the next day certain 
decrees and “orders” to the army, the navy, and the commis- 
sariat department, and so on and so on,— millions of commands, 
forming a series of commands corresponding to a series of 
‘events, which brought the French army into Russia. 

_ If Napoleon throughout the whole course of his reign con- 
itinues to issué commands concerning the expedition against 
‘England, and if on no single one of his designs he wastes so 
‘much time and energy, and yet during the. whole course of his 
‘reign not once attempts to carry out his intention, but makes 
\the expedition to Russia, with which, as he expressed himself 
‘repeatedly, he considered it advantageous to be in alliance, 
then this results from the fact that the first orders do not cor- 
respond to any series of events, whereas the second do. 
Tn order that a command should be genuinely carried out, it 
‘is necessary that a man should express an order that can be 
‘earried out. To know what can and what cannot be carried 
‘out is impossible, not merely in case of a Napoleonic expedi- 
‘tion against Russia in which millions participate, but even in 
‘the simplest event: since for the accomplishment of the one 
or the other, millions of obstacles may be encountered. 
_ For every command that is carried out, there are always 
“enormous numbers that are not carried out. 

All infeasible commands have no connection with the event, 

and are not carried out. Only those which are feasible be- 
-eome connected with consecutive series of commands accom- 
-panying whole series of events, and are carried out. 
-Our false conception that the command preceding the event 
is the cause of the event, arises from the fact that when an 
event has taken place, and only those out of a thousand com- 
mands which are connected with the event are carried out, we 
forget those which were not carried out because they could 
not be carried out. 

Moreover, the chief source of, our error in this way of 
thinking arises from the fact that in historical narratives a 
/ whole series of numberless, various, petty events, as, for exam- 

ple, what brought the French armies into Russia, are general- 
‘zed into one event according to the result which proceeded 
from this series of events, and, corresponding with this gener- 
alization, the whole series of commands is also generalized 
into one expression of will. . 

We say : Napoleon wished and made an expedition against 
Russia. 





840 WAR AND PEACE. 


In reality, we never find in all Napoleon’s career anything 
like the expression of this will, but we find a series of com: 
mands or expressions of his will in the most varied and inde- 
terminate sort of direction. 

Out of the numberless series of Napoleonic decrees that 
were never executed proceeded a series of commands concern- 
ing the campaign of 712 that were executed, not because these 
commands were in any respect different from the other com- 
mands that were not executed, but because the series of these 
commands coincided with a series of events which brought 
the French army into Russia, — just as by a stencil this or that 
figure is designed, not because it makes any difference on what 
side or how the color is applied, but because the color was. 
smeared over the whole side, including the figure that had 
been cut out of the stencil plate. 

So that, by considering the relation of the commands to the 
events in time, we shall find that in no case can the command > 
be the cause of the event, but that between the two exists a 
certain definite connection. 

In order to comprehend what this connection is, it is neces- 
sary to establish a second neglected condition of every com- 
mand that proceeds, not from the Divinity, but from.a man; 
and this is the fact that the man who gives the command must 
himself be a participant in the event. . 

This relationship between the person giving the command 
and the one to whom the command is given is precisely that 
which is called Power. 

This relationship consists in the following ;: — 

In order to undertake action in common, men always form 
themselves into certain groups in which, notwithstanding the 
variety of the objects which impel them to united action, the 
relation between the men who participate in the action is 
always the same. 

Having united into these groups, men always establish 
among themselves such a relationship that the greater num- 
ber of the men take the greatest direct part, and the smaller 
number take the smallest direct part, in the mutual action for 
which they have united their forces. 

Of all such groups into which men have ever joined them- 
selves for the accomplishment of a common activity, the most 
_ definite and clearly defined is the army. | 

Every army is composed of the lower members, “the rank : 
and file” in military parlance, the privates, who always form | 
the majority ; then of those who in military parlance hold higher 


WAR AND PEACE. 341 


rank —corporals, non-commissioned officers, less in number 
than the first; then those still higher, the number of whom 
is still less, and so on up to the highest power of all, which is 
concentrated in a single individual. 

The organization of an army may be expressed with perfect 
accuracy under the figure of a cone, in which the base, having 


the greatest diameter, is represented by the privates, the 


higher and smaller plane sections representing the higher 
ranks of the army, and so on up to the very top of the cone, 
the apex of which will be represented by the commander-in- 
chief. 

The soldiers forming the majority constitute the lowest por- 
tion of the cone and its base. The soldier himself directly 
does the killing, burning, pillaging, and always receives com- 
mands from those who stand above him; he himself never 
gives commands. 

The non-commissioned officer — the number of non-commis- 


- gioned officers is still less—more seldom than the soldier 
takes part in these acts, but he gives commands. 


The officer still more rarely takes part in the action him- 
self, and gives orders still more frequently. 

The general only commands the troops to march, and tells 
them where they are to go, but he almost never uses weapons. 

The commander-in-chief never can take a direct part in the 
action itself, but merely issues general dispositions concerning 
the movements of the masses. 

The same mutual relationship of individuals is to be noted 
in every union of men for common activity —in agriculture, 
trade, and in every other enterprise. 

Thus, without elaborately carrying out all the complicated 
divisions of the cone and the grades of the army or of any 
ealling and establishment of any kind whatever, or of any 
mutual business, from highest to lowest, the law everywhere 
holds by which men, for the accomplishment of mutual activi- 
ties, join together in such a relationship that in proportion as 
they take a greater direct share in the actual work, and the more 
they are in numbers, the less they give orders, and in propor- 
tion as they take a less direct part in the work itself, the more 
they give orders, and the fewer they are; thus passing up 
from the lowest strata to the one man standing alone, taking 
the smallest possible part in the work, and more than all the 
others directing his activity to the giving of commands. 

This relationship of the individuals who command to those 
who are commanded is the very essence of the concept which 
we call Power. 


342 WAR AND PEACE. 


Having established the conditions in time under which all 
events are accomplished, we have found that the command is 
executed only when it bears some relation to the correspond- 
ing series of events. | 

Having established the inevitable condition of the connec- 
tion between the commander and the commanded, we have 
found that by its very nature those who most issue the com- 
mands take the least part in the event itself, and that their 
activity is exclusively directed toward commanding. 


CHAPTER -VII. 


WHEN any event whatever is taking place, men express 
their various opinions and wishes concerning the event, and, 
as the event proceeds from the united action of many men, 
some one of the expressed opinions or wishes is sure to be 
executed, even though it may be approximately. . 

When one of the opinions expressed is fulfilled, this opinion 
seems to be connected with the event as a command preceding 
it. 

Men are dragging along a beam. Each expresses his opin- 
ions as to how and where it should be dragged. They drag 
the beam to its destination, and it is shown that it has been 
done in accordance with what one of them said. 

He gave the command. 

Here the command and the power are seen in their primi- 
tive form. 

The man who labored hardest with his arms could not SO. 
well think what he was doing, or be able to consider what would 
be the result of the common activity, or to command. 

The one who gave the most commands could, by reason of 
his activity with his words, evidently do less with his arms. 

In a large concourse of men who are directing their activity 
to one end, still more sharply defined is the class of those 
who, in proportion as they take a less active part in the gene- 
ral business, direct their activity all the more toward giving 
commands. 

A man, when he acts alone, always carries with him a cer- 
tain series of considerations which seem to him to have guided 
his past activity, and serve to facilitate his activity at the mo- 
ment, and to assist him in his plans for his future enterprises. 

In exactly the same way assemblages of men act, leaving 
those who take no part in the actual work to do their thinking 


WAR AND: PEACE. 343 


for them, and to justify their operations, and to make their 
plans for their future activity. 

For reasons known or unknown to us, the French suddenly 
begin to ruin and murder each other, and the justification of 
it is found in the expressed will of the people, who declare 

that this was essential for the well-being of France, for liberty, 

‘for equality ! 

_ The French cease to murder each other, and the justification 
of it is found in the necessity for the unity of Power, for re- 
sistance to Europe and the like. 

Men march from the west to the east, killing their fellow- 

‘men, and this event is accompanied by the words: “the 

glory of France,” “the humiliation of England,” and the like. 

_ History shows us that these justifications of events have no 
common sense, are mutually contradictory, like the murder of 

aman in consequence of the acknowledgment of his rights, 

and the massacre of millions in Russia for the humiliation of 

England. But these justifications have a necessary signifi- 
cance at the time they are made. 

These justifications release the men who brought these 
events about from moral responsibility. These temporary 
objects are like the cow-catchers, which serve to clear the road 
along the rails in front of the train: they clear the road of 
the moral responsibility of men. 

Without these justifications we could not answer the sim- 
plest questions which stand in the way of the examination of 
every event: “How did millions of men commit wholesale 
crimes — wars, massacres, and the like?” 

Would it be possible in the present complicated forms of 
political and social life in Europe to find any event whatever 
that would not have been predicted, prescribed, ordained, by 
sovereigns, ministers, parliaments, newspapers? Could there 
be any united action which would not find justification for 

itself in National Unity, in the Balance of Europe, in Civiliza- 
tion ? 
| So that every accomplished event inevitably corresponds to 
‘some expressed wish, and, having found justification for itself, 
appears as the fulfilment of the will of one or several men. 

When a ship moves, whatever may be her course, there will 
always be visible, in front of the prow, a ripple of the sun- 
dered waves. For the men who are on board of the ship the 

‘movement of this ripple would be the only observable motion. 
‘Only by observing closely, moment by moment, the move- 
ment of this ripple, and comparing this movement with the 


‘ 


344 WAR AND PEACE. 


motion of the ship, can we persuade ourselves that each mo- 
ment of the movement of the ripple is determined by the 
motion of the ship, and that we were led into error by the 
very fact that we ourselves were imperceptibly moving. 

We see the same thing in following, moment by moment, 
the motion of historical personages (that is, by establishing 
the necessary condition of everything that is accomplished 
—the condition of uninterrupted motion in time)— and by 
not losing from sight the inevitable connection of historical 
personages with the masses. 

Whatever has happened, it always seems that this very 
thing has been predicted and pre-ordained. In whatever direc- 
tion the ship moves, the ripple, which does not guide or even 
condition its movement, boils in front of her, and will seem, 
to an observer at a distance, not only to be spontaneously 
moving, but even directing the movement of the ship. 


Historians, regarding only those expressions of the will of 
historical personages which bore to events the relation of com- 
mands, have supposed that events are dependent upon com- 
mands. 

Regarding the events themselves, and that connection with 
the masses by which historical personages have been bound, 
we have discovered that historical personages and their com- 
mands are dependent on the events. . 

An undoubted proof of this deduction is given by the fact 
that, no matter how many commands are uttered, the event 
will not take place if there be no other causes for it; but so 
soon as any event—no matter what it is—is accomplished, 
then out of the number of all the continuously expressed wills 
of the various individuals, there will be found some which 
in meaning and time will bear to the event the relation of 
commands. 

In coming to this conclusion, we are able to give a direct 
and circumstantial reply to the two essential questions of his- 
tory, — 

(1) What is Power ? 

(2) What force causes the movement of the nations ? 

(1) Power is a relationship established between a certain — 
person and other persons, in virtue of which this person, in 
inverse proportion to the part which he takes in action, ex- | 
presses opinions, suppositions, and justifications concerning the 
common action to be accomplished. 

(2) The movement of the nations is due, not to Power nor 


WAR AND PEACE. 345 


to intellectual activity, nor even to a union of the two, as 
some of the historians have thought, but to the activity of all 
the men who took part in the event, and who always group 
themselves together in such a way that those who take the 
greatest direct share in the event assume the least responsi- 


bility, and vice versa. 


In the moral relation Power is the cause of the event; in 
the physical relation it is those who submit to the Power. 
But since moral activity is meaningless without physical ac- 


tivity, therefore the cause of an event is found neither in the 
‘one nor in the other, but in a combination of the two. 


Or, in other words, the concept of a cause is inapplicable to 


the phenomenon which we are regarding. 


In last analysis we reach the circle of Eternity, to that ulti- 
mate limit to which in every domain of thought the human 
intellect must come, unless it is playing with its subject. 

Electricity produces heat ; heat produces electricity. Atoms 


‘attract each other; atoms repel each other. 


Speaking of the reciprocal action of heat and electricity 


and about the atoms, we cannot say why this is so, but we say 


that it is, because it is unthinkable in any other way, because 
it must be so, because it is a law. 

The same holds true about historical phenomena. 

Why are there wars or revolutions? We know not; we 
only know that for the accomplishment of this or that action 
men band together into a certain group in which all take a share, 
and we say that this is so because it is unthinkable otherwise, 
that it is a law. 


CHAPTER VIII. 


Ir history had to do with external phenomena, the estab- 
lishment of this simple and evident law would be sufficient, 
and we might end our discussion. 

But the law of history relates to man. A particle of matter 


-eannot tell us at all that it is unconscious of the attraction or 
repulsion of force, and that it is not true. 


Man, however, who is the object of history, declares stoutly, 
“T am free, and therefore I am not subjected to laws.” 

The presence of the question of the freedom of the will, 
though not acknowledged, is felt at every step in history. 

All serious-minded historians have had, in spite of them- 


selves, to face this question. All the contradictions, the ob: 


B46 WAR AND PEACE. 


scurities of history, that false route by which this science has 
travelled, are based upon the impossibility of solving this. 
question. 

If the will of every man were free, that is, if every one could 
do as he pleased, then history would be a series of discon- 
nected chances. 

If even one man out of millions, during a period of thou- 
sands of years, had the power of acting freely, that is, in con- 
formity with his own wishes, then evidently the free action of 
that man, being an exception to the laws, would destroy the 
possibility of the existence of any laws whatever for all 
humanity. 

If there were one single law which directed the activities of 
men, then there could be no free will, since the will of’ men 
must be subjected to this law. 

In this contrariety is included the whole question of the 
freedom of the will, a question which from the most ancient 
times has attracted the best intellects of the human race, and 
which from the most ancient times has loomed up in all its 
colossal significance. 

The question, at bottom, is this: — 

Looking at man as upon the object of observation from any 
standpoint that we please, — theological, historical, ethnical, 
philosophical — we find the general law of Fate or necessity to 
which he, like everything else in existence, is subjected. Yet, 
looking upon him subjectively, as upon something of which we 
have a consciousness, we feel ourselves to be free. 

This knowledge is a perfectly distinct source of self-con- 
sciousness, and independent of reason. By means of reason 
man observes himself; but he knows himself only through 
consciousness. 

Without consciousness there could be no such thing as ob- 
servation or application of the reason. 

In order to understand, to observe, to reason, man must first — 
recognize that he is existent. 

As a living being, man cannot recognize himself other than 
as a wishing one; that is, he recognizes his own will. 

His will, which constitutes the essence of his life, man con- | 
ceives and cannot conceive otherwise than as free. a} 
If, on subjecting himself to study, man sees that his will is 
always directed in accordance with one and the same law 
(whether he observe the necessity of taking food or the activ- 
ity of the brain, or anything else), he cannot understand this 
invariable direction of his will otherwise than as a limitation 

of it. 


‘WAR AND PEACE. 347 


-- Whatever should be free could not be also limited. The 
will of man appears to him limited for the very reason that he 
can conceive of it in no other way than as free. 

You say, “I am not free, yet I raised and dropped my 
hand.” Every one understands that this illogical answer is 
an irrefutable proof of freedom. 

_ This answer is the expression of consciousness, which is not 
‘subordinate to reason. 

_ If the consciousness of freedom were not a separate source 
of self-consciousness independent of reason, 1t would be sub- 
jected to reason and experience, but in reality such subordina- 
‘tion never exists and is unthinkable. 

A series of experiments and judgments shows every man 
that he, as an object of observation, is subordinate to certain 
laws, and man submits to them and never quarrels with the 
laws of gravity or impenetrability when once he has learned 
them. 

But this series of experiments and argument proves to him 
‘that the perfect freedom of which he is conscious within him- 
self is an impossibility, that his every act is dependent upon 
his organization, his character, and the motives that act upon 
him, but man will never submit himself to the deduction from 
these experiments and arguments. 

Knowing from experiment and argument that a stone al- 
ways falls, man infallibly believes in this, and in all circum- 
stances he expects to see the fulfilment of this law which he 
has learned. 

But, though he has learned just as indubitably that his 
will is subject to laws, he does not believe it and cannot 
believe it. 

_ However many times experience and reason have shown a 
man that in the same circumstances, with the same character, 

he will always act in the same way as before, he for the thou- 

sandth time coming, under the same conditions with the same 

character, to a deed which always ends in the same way, never- 

theless indubitably feels himself just as firmly convinced that 
he can act as he pleases, as he did before the experiment. 

Every man, whether savage or cultivated, however irrefra- 
'gably reason and experiment have taught him that it is impos- 
sible to imagine two different courses of action in the same 
circumstances, feels that without his unreasoning idea (which 
constitutes the essence of freedom) he could not imagine life 
| possible. 

- He feels that, however impossible it is, still it 1s true, since 


348 WAR AND PEACE. 


without this notion of freedom he would not only not under. 
stand life, but could not live a single instant. 

He could not live, because all the aspirations of men, all the 
incitements to living, are only the aspirations towards enhance- 
ment of freedom. 

Riches, poverty ; fame, obscurity ; power, subjection; strength, 
weakness ; health, sickness; knowledge, ignorance ; labor, lei- 
sure; feasting, hunger ; virtue, vice, — are only the greater or 
less degrees of freedom. 

To imagine a man not having freedom is impossible except 
he be deprived of life. 

If the concept of freedom seem to reason as a senseless con- 
tradiction, like the possibility of accomplishing two courses of 
action at one and the same time, or an effect without a cause, 
then this only goes to prove that consciousness does not belong 
to reason. 

This immovable, incontestable consciousness of freedom, 
which is not subject to experiment and reason, recognized by 
all thinkers and admitted by all men without exception, a 
consciousness without which any conception of man is non- 
sense, constitutes another side of the question. 

Man is the work of an omnipotent, omniscient, and infinitely 
good God. What is the sin the notion of which takes its 
origin from the consciousness of the freedom of man ? 

Such is the question of theology. | 

The actions of men are subject to invariable general laws 
expressed by statistics. What constitutes man’s responsibility 
to society, the notion of which takes its origin from the con- 
sciousness of free will ? 

Such is the question of Law. 

The actions of man flow from his natural temperament and 
the motives acting upon him. What is conscience and the con- 
sciousness of the good and evil of the acts that take their 
origin from the consciousness of free will ? 

Such is the question of ethics. 

Man, relatively to the general life of humanity, seems to be 
‘subject to the laws that determine this life. But this same 
man, independently of this relation, seems to be free. Must 
the past life of nations and of humanity be regarded as the 
product of the free or of the unfree acts of men? Such is. 
the question of history: | 

But in these self-confident days of the popularization o 
knowledge by that great instrument of ignorance, the diffu- 
sion of literature, the question of the freedom of the will 


WAR AND PEACE. 349 


has been taken into a field where it cannot be a question 
at all. 

In our time, most of the men who call themselves advanced 
—that is, a mob of ignoramuses — accept the works of the 
naturalists, who look at only one side of the question, as the 
solution of the question. 

“There is no soul, no free will, because the life of man is 
expressed by muscular movements, but these muscular move- 
ments are conditioned by nervous action; there is no soul, no 
free will, because, in some unknown period of time, we came 
from monkeys.” 

This is spoken, written, and printed by men who do not 
even suspect that for thousands of years all religions, all 
thinkers have not only recognized, but have never denied, this 
same law of necessity which they have been striving so 
eagerly to prove, with the aid of physiology and comparative 
zoology. 

They do not see that in regard to this question the natural 
sciences are only to serve as a means of throwing light upon 
one side of it. 

Since from the standpoint of observation, reason and will 
are only secretions (sécrétions) of the brain, and man, fol- 
lowing the general law, may have developed from lower ani- 
mals in an indeterminate period of time, it only explains 
from a new side the truth which has been recognized for thou- 
sands of years by all religions and all philosophical theories, 
that from the standpoint of reason man is subject to the laws 
‘of necessity, but it does not advance by a single hair’s-breadth 
the solution of the question which has another and contradic- 
tory side, based upon the consciousness of liberty. 

If men could have come from monkeys in an indeterminate 
period of time, it is just as comprehensible that they could have 
been formed from a handful of clay during a determined period 
of time (in the first place, x is the time; in the second, 1t is 
descent) ; and the question as to how far man’s consciousness 
‘of freedom can be reconciled with the law of necessity to 

‘which man is subject, cannot, be solved by physiology and 
-zodlogy, for we can observe only the muscular activity of the 
frog, the rabbit, or the monkey, while in man we can observe 
“neuro-muscular activity and consciousness. 

The naturalists and their disciples, who think they have 
solved the question, are like masons commissioned to stucco 
‘one side of the walls of a church, and who, in a fit of zeal, 
taking advantage of the absence of the overseer, should put a 


350 WAR AND PEACE. 


coat of plaster over the windows, the sacred pictures, the 
scaffolding, and the walls as yet uncemented, and should be 
delighted, from their plasterers’ standpoint, at having made 
the whole so even and smooth! 


CHAPTER IX. 


In the decision of the question of Free Will and Necessity, 
History has the advantage over all the other branches of 
knowledge which have taken this question in hand, that for 
_history this question touches not the very essence of man’s 
will, but the manifestation of the display of this will in the 
past and under certain conditions. : 

History, by its decision of this question, stands toward 
other sciences in the position of an empirical science toward 
speculative sciences. 

History has for its object not the will of man, but our rep- 
resentation of it. 

And therefore the impenetrable mystery of the reconcilia- 
tion of the two contradictories, Free Will and Necessity, 
cannot exist for History —as it does for theology, ethics, and 
philosophy. 

History examines that manifestation of the life of man, in 
which the reconciliation of these two contradictions is already 
effected. 

In actual life, every historical event, every act of man, is 
understood clearly and definitely, without any sense of the 
slightest inconsistency, although every event appears in part 
free and in part necessitated. 

For deciding the question how freedom and necessity are 
united, and what constitutes the essence of these two con- 
cepts, the philosophy of history can and must pursue a route 
contrary to that taken by the other sciences. Instead of 
defining the concepts of Free Will and Necessity, and then sub- 
jecting the phenomena of history to the definitions prepared, 
History, from the enormous collection of phenomena at her 
service, and which always seem dependent upon Free Will and _ 
Necessity, is obliged to deduce her definition from the con- 
cepts themselves of Free Will and Necessity. 

However we may regard the manifestation of the activities 
of many men or of one man, we cannot fail to understand it 
as the product, in part of the freedom of man, in part of the 
laws of necessity. if 


E 


: WAR AND. PEACE. $51 


| When we speak of the transmigrations of nations and the 
myvasions of barbarians, or of the arrangements of Napo- 
,eon III., or of a man’s act performed an hour ago, and con- 
isting in the fact that from various directions for his walk 
ie chose one, we detect not the slightest contradiction. The 
neasure of Free Will and Necessity involved in the actions of 
vhese men is clearly defined for us. 

' Very often, the manifestation of greater or less freedom 
‘aries according to the standpoint from which we regard the 
»yhenomenon ; but always and invariably every action of man 
resents itself to us as a reconciliation of Free Will and 
Necessity. 

In every act that we take under consideration we see a 
ertain share of Freedom and a certain share of Necessity. 
And always the more Freedom we see in any action, the less is 
here of Necessity, and the more Necessity the less Freedom. 
The relation between Freedom and Necessity diminishes 
md increases according to the standpoint from which the 
iction is viewed; but this relation always remains propor- 
ional. 7 

A drowning man, who clutches another and causes him to 
lrown; or a starving mother, exhausted in suckling her baby, 
who steals food; ora soldier in the ranks, subjected to army 
discipline, who kills a defenceless man by command of his 
uperior, —all appear less guilty, that is, less free, and more 
ubjected to the law of Necessity, to one who knows the condi- 
‘lions in which these people were brought, and more free to 
he one who knows not that the man himself was drowning, 
hat the mother was starving, that the soldier was in line, 
tnd so on. 

In exactly the same way, a man who, twenty years ago, 
should have committed a murder, and after that should have 
ived peaceably and harmlessly in society, appears less guilty ; 
lis action is more subordinated to the law of Necessity for 
he one who should consider his crime after the lapse of 
iwwenty years, and more free to the one who should consider 
‘he same action a day after 1t had been perpetrated. 

And exactly in the same way every action of a lunatic, 
of a drunken man, or of a person under strong provocation, 
seems less free and more inevitable to the one who knows 
she mental condition of the person committing the act, and 
nore free and less inevitable to the one who knows not. 

In all these cases the conception of Free Will is increased or 
liminished, and proportionally the conception of Necessity is 








302 WAR AND PEACE. 


increased or diminished, according to the standpoint from 
which the action is viewed. ‘The greater appears the Neces 
sity, the less appears the Freedom of the Will. 

And vice versa. eet 

Religion, the common sense of humanity, the science of 
law, and history itself, accept in exactly the same way this 
relationship between Necessity and Free Will. 


All cases without exception in which our representation of 
Free Will and Necessity increases and diminishes may be 
reduced to three fundamental principles : — 

(1) The relation of the man committing the act to the out- 
side world. 

(2) To time. 

And (3) to the causes which brought about the act. 

The first principle is the more or less palpable relation of 
the man to the outside world, the more or less distinct con- 
cept of that definite place which every man occupies toward 
every other man existing contemporaneously with him. 

This is the principle which makes it evident that the 
drowning man is less free and more subject to Necessity than 
aman standing on dry land; the principle which makes the 
acts of a man living in close connection with other men, in 
densely populated localities, the acts of a man bound by 
family, by service, by engagements, seem less free and more 
_ subjected to Necessity than the acts of a single man living 
alone. . 

(1) If we examine an isolated man without any relations to 
his environment, then his every act seems to us free. But if we 
detect any relation whatever to what surrounds him, if we de- 
tect any connection with anything whatever, — with the man 
who talks with him, with the book that he reads, with the 
labor that he undertakes, even with the atmosphere that sur- 
rounds him, even with the light that falls upon surrounding 
objects, we see that each one of these conditions has some 
influence upon him, and governs at least one phase of his 
activity. | 

And so far as we see these influences, so far our representa: 
tion of his freedom diminishes and our representation of the 
necessity to which he is subjected increases. 

(2) The second principle is the more or less visible rela- 
tion of man to the outside world in time; the more or less 
distinct conception of the place which the man’s activity 
occupies in time. 





| 
| 
! 


WAR AND PEACE. $58 


This is the principle whereby the fall of the first man, 
which had for its consequences the origin of the human race, 
— evidently less free than the marriage of a man of our 

op 

This is the principle in consequence of which the lives and 
activities of men who lived a century ago and are bound with 
me in time cannot seem to me so free as the lives of con- 
semporaries, the consequences of which are as yet unknown 
to me. 

The scale of apprehension of the greater or less Freedom 
or Necessity in this relation depends upon the greater or less 
interval of time between the accomplishment of the action 
and my judgment upon it. 

If I regard an act which I performed a moment before under 
approximately the same conditions in which I find myself 
n0w, my action seems to me undoubtedly free. 

But if 1 judge an act which I performed a month back, 
then finding myself in different conditions, I cannot help 
recognizing that if this act had not been performed, many 
things advantageous, agreeable, and even indispensable, would 
aot have taken place. 

If I go back in memory to some act still further back, — 
that I did ten years ago and more, —then the consequences 
of my act present themselves to me as still more evidently 
necessitated, and it would be hard for me to imagine what 
would have happened if this act had not taken place. 

The further back I go in memory, or, what is the same 
shing, the longer I refrain from judgment, the more doubtful 
will be my decision as to the freedom of any act. 

In history we find also exactly the same progression of per- 
suasion as to the part that free will plays in the actions of 
she human race. A contemporary event taking place seems 
30 us undoubtedly: the product of all the eminent men; but 
if the event is further away in time, we begin to see its inevi- 
jable consequences, other than which we could not imagine 
flowing from it. And the further we go back in our investi 
zation of events, the less do they seem to us spontaneous and 
free. | 
_ The Austro-Prussian war seems to us the undoubted conse- 
yuence of the acts of the astute Bismarck and so on. 

- The Napoleonic wars, though with some shadow of doubt, 
still present themselves to us as the results of the will of 
heroes; but in the crusades we see an event definitely taking 
its place, an event without which the modern history of 


VOL. 4, Lago 23. — 


354 WAR AND PEACE. 


Europe would be meaningless, and yet in exactly the same 
way this event presented itself to the chroniclers of the 
crusades as merely the outcome of the will of certain 
individuals. 

In the migration of the Wabannel even in our time, it never 
pecurs to us that it depended upon the pleasure of Attila to 
reconstitute the European world. 

The further back into history we carry the object of our) 
investigation, the more doubtful appears the freedom of the 
men who brought events about, and the more evident grows 
the law of Necessity. 

(3) The third principle is the greater or less accessibility 
to us of that endless chain of causes, jnevitably claimed by 
reason, In which every comprehensible phenomenon, and there- 
fore every act of man, must take its definite place, as the 
result of what is past,.and as the cause of what is to come. 

This is the principle which makes our deeds and those of 
other men seem to us, on the one hand, the more free and the 
less subjected to Necessity, according as we know the physio- 
logical, psychological, and historical laws to which man is 
subject, and the more faithfully we examine the physiological, 
psychological, and historical causes of events: and, on the- 
other hand, in proportion.as the action under examination is 
simple and uncomplicated by the character and intellect of : 
the man whose act we are examining. 

When we absolutely fail to comprehend the reasons of any_ 
act, — in case of crime, an act of virtue, or even an act which 
has no reference to good and evil,— we are apt to atiribua | 
the greatest share of freedom in such a case. 

In the case of a crime, we demand especially for such an 
act the extreme penalty; in case of a good action we espe-. 
cially reward such a virtuous deed. | 

In the case of something unique, we recognize the greatest i 
individuality, originality, freedom. i 

But if a single one of the innumerable motives be known 
to us, we recognize a certain degree of necessity, and are not 
so eager in our demand for the punishment of the crime; we 
recognize less service in the virtuous action, less freedom in 
the apparently original performance. 

The fact that a criminal was brought up among evil-dogill | 
mitigates his fault. The self-denial of a father or mother — 
self-denial with the possibility of a reward — is more compre-_ 
hensible than self-denial without reason, and therefore seems 
to us deserving of sympathy, — less free. ; 1 










J 


WAR AND PEACE. * 855 


The founder of a sect or of a party, an inventor, surprises 


us less when we know how and when his activity was pre- 
pared beforehand. 


If we have a long series of experiences, if our observation 


is constantly directed to searching into the correlation be- 


tween cause and effect in the relations of men, then the acts 
of men will séem to us proportionally more necessitated and 
‘less free, the more accurately we trace causes and effects in 
_ events. 


If the acts under consideration are simple, and we have for 


- our study an enormous number of such acts, then our notion 


of their Necessity will be still more complete. 


The dishonorable act of a man whose father was dishonor- 


-able; the evil conduct of a woman who has fallen in with 
| low associates; the return of the drunkard to his drunken- 
| ness, and the like, are cases which will seem to us less free 
the clearer we comprehend their causes. 


If, again, a man whose actions we are examining stands on 
the lowest plane of mental development,—as a child, a 


lunatic, an idiot, —we who know the causes of his activity 
‘and lack of complexity in his character and intellect, see 
. forthwith a decidedly large proportion of necessity and so 
_ little freedom of will that so soon as we know the cause that 


must have produced the act we can foretell the act. 
These three principles alone make possible the theory of 


, irresponsibility for crime that is recognized in all codes, and 
_ that of extenuating circumstances. 








Responsibility seems greater or less in proportion to our 
ereater or less knowledge of the conditions in which the man 


_ found himself whose crime is under judgment, in proportion 


to the longer or shorter interval of time between the perpe- 
tration of the crime and our judgment of it, and in proportion 
to our more or less complete comprehension of the causes of 
the act. 


CHAPTER X. 


Tuus our conception of Free Will and Necessity in the 
phenomenon of the life of man gradually diminishes and in- 
creases in proportion as we look at the greater or less connec- 
tion with the outer world, in proportion to the greater or less 
interval of time, and the greater or less dependence upon the 
motives. 

So that if we consider the position of a man in whose case 


356° WAR AND PEACE. 


the connection with the external world is best known, when 
the period of time between our judgment and the act is the 
very greatest possible, and the causes of the act most acces- 
sible, then we shall gain a conception of the most perfect 
necessity and the least possible freedom. it. 

Whereas if we consider a man who shows the least depend- 
ence upon external conditions; if his act is ¢éonsummated at 
the nearest possible moment to the present time, and the 
motives of his act are inaccessible to us, then we shall gain a 
conception of the least possible necessity and the greatest 
possible freedom. 

But neither in the one case nor the other, however we 
might change our standpoint, however clear we might make 
the connection between the man and the outer world, or how- 
ever inaccessible it might appear to us, however remote or 
however near might be the period of time, however comprehen- 
sible or incomprehensible for us the motives, we could never 
formulate to ourselves the idea of perfect Freedom or of com- 
plete Necessity. 

(1) However hard we might endeavor to imagine a man 
freed from all influence of the external world, we could never | 
conceive of such a thing as Freedom in space. 

Every act of a man is inexorably conditioned also by the 
fact that he is bounded by the very nature of his body. 

I raise my arm and drop it again. My action seems free, 
but, on asking myself, “Can I raise my arm in every direc- 
tion ?” I see that I have raised my arm in that direction where 
there would be the least resistance to such an action — either | 
the human bodies around me or the organization of my own — 
body. | 

If among all possible directions I choose one, then I choose _ 
it because there were less obstacles in that direction. 1 

In order that my action should be free, it would be indis- 
pensable that it should meet no obstacles at all. In order to i 
conceive of a man as being free, we should imagine him out- 
side of space, which is evidently impossible. ! 
(2) However close we may approximate the time of an 

I 
| 


event to the present, we can never gain the notion of Freedom 
in time. 

For if I witness an act which was accomplished a second | 
ago, I am nevertheless obliged to recognize that the act was | 
not free, since the act is conditioned by that very moment of i 
time in which it took place. | 


Can I raise my arm ? ) 


i} 


WAR AND PEACE. 351 


_ [raise it, but I ask myself, Could I have helped raising my 
arm at that moment of time already past ? 

In order to convince myself, at the next moment I do not 
raise my arm. But I did not refrain from raisiig my arm at 
that former moment when I asked the question about freedom. 
| The time has passed, and to retain it was not in my power; 
and the arm which I then raised, and the atmosphere in which 
I made the gesture, are no longer the atmosphere which now 
surrounds me, or the arm with which I now refrain from mak- 
ing the motion. 3 

That moment in which the first gesture was made is irrevo- 
‘cable, and at that moment I could make only one gesture, and, 
whatever gesture I made, that gesture could have been only 
one. 

The fact that in the subsequent moment of time I did not 
raise my arm is no proof that I might have refrained from rais- 
ing it then. And since my motion could have been only one, 


‘at one moment of time, then it could not have been any other. 
‘In order to represent it as free, it is necessary to represent it 
‘at the present time, at the meeting point of the past and the 


future, that is to say, outside of time, which is impossible ; 
and 

(3) However much we may magnify the difficulty of com- 
prehending motives, we can never arrive at a representation 
of absolute freedom, that is, to an absence of motive. 

However unattainable for us may be the motive for the 
expression of will as manifested in an action performed by 
ourselves or others, the intellect first demands an assumption 
and search for the motivé without which any phenomenon is 
unthinkable. 

I raise my arm for the purpose of accomplishing an act 
independent of any motive, but the fact that I wish to per- 
form the act that has no motive is the cause of my act. 

But even if, representing to ourselves a man absolutely 
freed from all influences, regarding merely his momentary 
action as of the present, and not called forth by any motive, 
if we grant that the infinitely small residuum of Necessity 1s 
equal to zero, even then we should not arrive at the notion of 
the absolute freedom of man; since a being that does not 
respond to any influences from the outside world, exists out- 


_ side of time, and is independent of motives, is no longer man. 


| 


In exactly the same way we can never conceive of the acts 
of a man without a share of freedom, and subjected only te 
the law of Necessity. 


358 WAR AND PEACE. 


(1) However great may be our knowledge of the conditions 
of space in which man finds himself, this knowledge can never 
be perfect, since the number of these conditions is infinitely 
great, in the same way as space is limitless. And conse- 


quently, so long as all the conditions that influence man are 


not known, there can be no absolute Necessity, but there is a 
certain measure of Freedom. 

(2) However much we may lengthen out the period of time 
between the act which we are examining, and the time when 
our judgment is passed, this period will be finite; but time is 
endless, and therefore in this relation there can never be 
absolute Necessity. 

(3) However accessible may be the chain of motives for 
any act whatever, we should never know the whole chain, 
since it is endless, and again we should never have absolute 
Necessity. 

But, moreover, even if, granting a residuum of the least pos- 


sible Freedom, equal to zero, we were to recognize, in any — 


possible case, as for example a dying man, an unborn child, 
an idiot, absolute lack of freedom, then by that very act we 
should destroy our concept of man which we were examining: 
for without freedom of the will man is not man. 

And therefore our perception of the activity of man, subor- 
dinated only to the law of Necessity, without the slightest 
trace of Free Will, is just as impossible as the conception of 
the absolute Freedom of the acts of man. 


Thus, in order to represent to ourselves the act of a man : 


subjected only to the law of Necessity without any Freedom 
of the will, we must have knowledge of an infinite number of 
the conditions in space, an infinitely long period of time, and 
an infinite series of motives. : 

In order to represent a man absolutely free and unsubor- 
dinated to the law of Necessity, we must represent him as one 
outside of space, outside of time, and outside of all dependence 
upon motives. 

In the first case, if Necessity were possible without Free- 
dom, we should be brought to define the laws of Necessity by 
Necessity itself; that is, a mere form without substance. 

In the second case, if Freedom without N ecessity were 
possible, we should arrive at absolute Freedom outside of 
Space, time, and cause, which, for the very reason that it 
would be unconditional and illimitable, would be nothing, or 
substance without form, 


EE —————————————— 


f 


WAR AND PEACE. 359 


We should have arrived in general terms at those two fun- 
damental principles on which man’s whole conception of the 
world depends, the searchless essence of life, and the laws 
which condition this essence. 

Reason says, — 

(1) Space, with all its forms, which are given to it by its 

quality of visibleness, —matter, —is infinite, and cannot be 


~ conceived otherwise. 


(2) Time is endless motion without a moment of rest, and 


it cannot be conceived otherwise. 


(3) The chain of cause and effect can have no beginning 


» and ean have no end. 


Consciousness says, — 
(1) I am one, and all that happens is only I; consequently 


“TL include space ; 


_ (2) I measure fleeting time by the motionless moment of 
the present, at which alone I recognize that I am alive; con- 


| sequently I am outside of time, and 


(3) I am outside of motives, since I feel conscious that I 


_ myself am the motive of every manifestation of my life. 


Reason expresses the laws of Necessity. Consciousness 
expresses the essence of Free Will. 

Freedom, unconditioned by anything, is the essence of life 
in the consciousness of man. 

Necessity without substance is the reason of man in its 
three forms. 

Freedom is that which is examined. Necessity is that 
which examines. 

Freedom is substance. Necessity is form. 

Only by sundering the two sources of knowledge which are 
related to each other, as form and substance, do we arrive at 


the separate, mutually excluding and inscrutable concepts of 


Free Will and Necessity. 

Only by uniting them is a clear presentation of the life of 
man obtained. | 

Outside of these two concepts, mutually by their union de- 
fining one another, — form and substance, — any representa- 
tion of man’s life is impossible. 

All that we know of the life of man is merely the relation 
of Freedom to Necessity; that is, an avowal of the laws of 
Reason. 

All that we know of the outer world of Nature is only a 
certain relationship of the forces of Nature to Necessity ; that 
is, the essence of life related to the laws of reason. 


360 WAR AND PEACE. 


The life forces of Nature lie outside of us, and are unknown 
to us, and we call these forces gravity, inertia, electricity, vital 
force, and so on; but the life forces of man are recognized by 
us, and we call them Freedom of the Will. 

But just as the force of gravitation, in itself unattainable, 
inscrutable, though felt by every man, is only comprehensible 
to us so far as we know the laws of Necessity to which it is 
subject (from the first consciousness that all bodies are heavy 
up to the laws of Newton), in exactly the same way incompre- 
hensible, inscrutable in itself, is the force of Free Will, though 
recognized by every one, and is- only understood by us so far 
as we know the laws of Necessity to which it is subject (begin- 
ning with the fact that every man must die, up to the knowl- 


edge of the most complicated laws of political economy and 


history). 

All knowledge is but the bringing of the essence of life 
under the laws of Reason. 

Man’s Free Will is differentiated from every other force by 
the fact that man is conscious of this force; but Reason 
regards it as in no respect different from any other force. 

The forces of gravitation, electricity, chemical affinity, are 
only in this respect differentiated from one another that these 
forces are differently defined by Reason. Just so the force of 
man’s Freedom in the eyes of Reason differs from other forces 
of nature merely by the definition which this very. Reason 
gives it. 

Freedom without Necessity, that is, without the laws of 
Reason which define it, is in no respect different from gravity, 
or heat, or the forces of vegetation; for Reason it is a transi- 
tory, undefined sensation of life. 

And as the undefined essence of force moving the heavenly 
bodies, the undefined essence of the force of electricity and the 
force of chemical affinity and vital force, constitute the sub- 
Stance of astronomy, physics, chemistry, botany, zoology, and 
so on, in exactly the same way the essence of the force of 
Freedom constitutes the substance of History. 


But just as the object of every science is the manifestation | 


of this indeterminate essence of life, while this same essence 
may be only a subject for metaphysics, so the manifestation 


of the force of the Free Will of men in space, time, and causal- 


ity constitutes the object of history, while Free Will itself is 
the subject of metaphysics. 
In the empirical sciences that which we know we call the laws 


of Necessity ; that which we do not know we call vital force. 


= 


~~ 


WAR AND PEACE. 361 


Vital force is only the expression of the unknown reserve of 
‘what we know of the essence of life. 
' Just so in History: that which is known to us we call the 
laws of Necessity, that which is. unknown we call Free Will. 

_ Free Will or History is only the expression of the unknown 
‘reserve of what we know about the laws of the life of man. 


CHAPTER XI. 


History observes the manifestations of the Free Will of 
‘man in their relations with the external world, with time, and 
with causality; that is, it determines this freedom by the laws 
of Reason, and therefore History is a science only in so far as 
‘it determines Freedom by these laws. 

For History to regard the Free Will of men as a force able 
to exert influence upon historical events, that is, as not subject 
‘to law, is the same thing as for astronomy to recognize freedom 
in the movement in the heavenly forces. 

This admission would destroy the possibility of the exist- 
ence of laws, that is, of any knowledge whatever. 

If a single body existed endowed with freedom of move- 
ment, then the laws of Kepler and Newton would no longer 
exist, and we could have no conception of the movements of 
the heavenly bodies. 

If a single human action were free, there would be no his- 
torical laws, no conception of historical events. 

History is concerned only with the lines of the movement 
of human wills; one end of which disappears in the unseen; 
while at the other end appears consciousness of the Free Will 
of man in the present, moving in space, time, and causality. 

The more the field of movement opens out before our eyes, 


the more evident become the laws of this movement. 


To grasp and define these laws is the object of History. 

From the standpoint from which science now looks at the 
object of its investigations, along that route which it traverses 
in seeking the causes of events-in the Free Will of men, the 
formulation of laws is impossible, for, however carefully we 
limit the Free Will of men, as soon as we recognize it as a 
force the existence of the law is impossible. 

Only by reducing Will to an intinitesimal, that is, regarding 
it as an infinitely small quantity, do we believe in the abso- 
lute accessibility of causes, and only then, instead of seeking 


for causes, History takes as its problem the search for laws. 


362 WAR AND PEACE. 


The search for these laws has been undertaken in times 
past, and the new methods of thought which History must 
appropriate must be elaborated simultaneously with the self- 
destruction toward which the “old History” moves with its 
constant differentiation of the causes of phenomena. 

Along this route all the human sciences have travelled. 

Mathematics, the most exact of .sciences, having reached 
the infinitely small, abandons the process of differentiation 
and makes use of a new process, that of summing up the un- 
known — the differential or infinitesimal calculus. 

Mathematics, giving up the concept of causes, seeks for 
laws; that is, the qualities common to all of unknown, infini- 
tesimal elements. 

Though by another form, the other sciences have followed 
in the same route of thought. 

When Newton formulated the law of gravitation, he did not 
say that the sun or the earth had the property of attracting; he 
said that all bodies, from the largest to the smallest, possessed 
the property of attracting one another; that is, putting aside 
the question of the cause of the movement of bodies, he sim- 
ply formulated a quality common to all bodies, from the 
infinitely great to the infinitely small. 

The natural sciences do the same; putting aside the ques- 
tion of causation, they seek for laws. 

History also stands on the same path, and if history has for 
its object the study of the movements of peoples and of human- 
ity, and not a description of episodes in the lives of men, it 
must put aside the notion of cause, and search for the laws 
common to all the closely united, infinitesimal elements of 
Freedom. 


CHAPTER XII. 


From the time that the law of Copernicus was discovered 
and demonstrated, the mere recognition of the fact that the 
sun does not move, but the earth, has overturned the entire 
cosmography of the ancients. | 

It was possible, by rejecting the law, to hold fast to the old 
view of the motion of bodies; but unless the law was rejected, 
it became impossible, apparently, to continue in the teaching 
of the Ptolemaic worlds. And yet, even after the discovery . 
of the law of Copernicus, the Ptolemaic worlds were still 
taught, 


WAR AND PEACE. 363 


From the time when man first said and proved that the 
umber of births or crimes was subject to mathematical laws, 
‘nd that certain geographical and politico-economical condi- 
ions determined this or that form of government, that certain 
elations of the population to the soil produce the movements 
if the nation, from that time the fundamental principles 
hereon history was based were entirely subverted. 
/ It was possible, by rejecting the new laws, to hold to the 
ormer views of history; but, unless they were rejected, it was 
mpossible, apparently, to continue to teach that historical 
‘vents were the product of the free will of men. 
| For if any particular form of government were established, 
T any movement of a nation took place, as a consequence of 
‘ertain geographical, ethnographical, or economical conditions, 
he wills of those men who appeared to us to have established 
he form of government can no longer be regarded as the cause. 
' But still the old style of history continues to be taught 
‘ide by side with the laws of statistics, of geography, of 
olitical economy, comparative philology, and geology, which 
lirectly contradict its tenets. . 
~ Long and stubbornly the struggle between the old view and 
he new went on in the domain of physical philosophy. 

Theology stood on guard in behalf of the old view, and de- 
1ounced the new for its destruction of Revelation. But when 
uth won the day, Theology intrenched herself just as solidly 
n the new ground. 

Just as long and stubbornly at the present time rages the 
‘truggle between the old and the new view of history, and, 
ust as before, Theology stands on guard in behalf of the old 
riew, and denounces the new for its subversion of Revelation. 

In the one case, just as in the other, passions have been 
‘alled into play on both sides, and the truth has been ob- 
‘cured. On the one hand, fear and sorrow for all the knowl- 
sdge elaborately built up through the centuries: on the other, 
ihe passion for destruction. 7 

For the men who opposed the rising truth of physics, it 
seemed as if by their acknowledgment of this truth, their 
aith in God, in the creation of the universe, in the miracle of 
Joshua the son of Nun, would be destroyed. 

To the defenders of the laws of Copernicus and Newton, to 
Voltaire, for instance, it seemed that the laws of astronomy 
vere subversive of religion, and he made the laws of gravita- 
‘lon a weapon against religion. 

In exactly the same way now it is only necessary to recog: 





364 WAR AND PEACE. 


nize the law of necessity and the idea of the soul, of good and 
evil, and all state and church institutions that revolve around 
these concepts would be subverted. 

Now, just as Voltaire in his time, the uninvited defenders 
of the law of Necessity employ this law against religion; and 
exactly the same way as the law of Copernicus in astronomy, 
so now the law of Necessity in history not only does not sub-. 
vert, but even strengthens, the foundation upon which are 
erected state and ecclesiastical institutions. 

As at that time in the question of astronomy, so now in 
the question of history, every variety of view is based upon 
the recognition or non-recognition of the absolute unit which 
serves as the standard measure of all visible phenomena. In 
astronomy this standard was the immovability of the earth ; 
in history it was the independence of the individual — Free- 
dom of the Will. 

As for astronomy, the difficulty in the way of recognizing 
the immovability of the earth consisted in having to rid one’s 
self of the immediate sensation that the earth was immovable, 
and of a similar sense as to the motion of the planets; so also 
in history the difficulty in the way of recognizing the subjec- 
tion of personality to the laws of space, time, and causality 
consisted in being obliged to rid one’s self of the sense of 
the independence of one’s personality. 

But, as in astronomy, the new theory says, — 

“It is true we are not conscious of the motion of the earth, 
but if we grant its immobility, we arrive at an absurdity ; 
whereas, if we admit the motion of which we are not conscious, 
we arrive at laws,” in the same way, in history the new view. 
says, — 

“It is true we are not conscious of our dependence, but, by 
admitting the Freedom of the Will, we arrive at an absurdity ; 
whereas, by admitting our dependence upon the external 
world, time, and causality, we arrive at laws.” 

In the first case it was necessary to get rid of the conscious- 
ness of non-existent immobility in space, and to recognize a 
motion that was not present to our consciousness; in the 
present case, in exactly the same way, it is essential to get 
rid of a Freedom of the Will that does not exist, and to recog: 
nize a dependence that is not present to our consciousness. 


END OF WARK AND PEACE, 


“SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 





VOL. I.—PART TI. (1805). 


CHAPTER I. PAGE 1. 


_ Soirée at Mlle. Scherer’s. Discussion with Prince Vasili about politics 
‘Mlle. Scherer’s proposal that Anatol Kurdgin marry the Princess Mariya. 


CHAPTER ITI. P. 6. 


Mlle. Scherer’s drawing-room. The old aunt. The Princess Bolkonskaya. 
Pierre. Anna Pdévlovna as mistress of ceremonies. 


CHAPTER III. P. 10. 


The various groups. The Viscount Montemart. Discussion of the mur- 
der of the Duc @’Enghien. Ellen the beautiful. The story of the duke 
meeting Napoleon at Mlle. George’s. 


CHAPTER IV. P. 15. 


The Princess Drubétskaya urges. Prince Vasfli to forward the interests of 
her son Boris. The value of influence. Discussion of the coronation of 
Bonaparte at Milan. The viscount’s views of matters in France. Pierre’s 
eulogy of Napoleon. Pierre’s smile. Prince Ippolit’s story. 


CHAPTER V. P. 23. 


Description of Pierre. Pierre and Prince Andréi arguing about war and 
Napoleon. 


CHAPTER VI. P. 27. 


The princess joins the gentlemen. Almost a family quarrel. Prince 
Andréi’s advice to Pierre never to marry, and his reasons. Pierre promises 
not to join Anatol’s dissipations any more. 


CHAPTER VII. P. 33. 


Pierre breaks his promise and goes once more. The scene at the Horse- 

ard Barracks. The wager between Stevens and Dolokhof. Character 

of Dolokhof. Doldékhof drains the bottle, and wins the fifty rubles. Pierre’s 
frolic with the bear. 365 


. 


366 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


CHAPTER VIII. P. 39. 


Boris Drubétskoi attached to Semyénovsky regiment of the Guards. Thy 
Princess Drubetskaya visits at the Rostéfs at Moscow. The Countess Ro 
tova. Her dignity. The countess’s Name-day reception. Talk about thi 
old Count Bezukhoi and his illegitimate son. Account of Pierre’s spree 
with Anatol. Possibility of Pierre inheriting a name and fortune. 


CHAPTER. 1X P42. 


Irruption of the children. Natdsha Rostova at thirteen. Nikoldi Rostof 
Characteristics of Boris Drubétskoi. : 


CHAPTER X. P. 46. 


Sonya the niece; compared to a kitten. Her jealousy. The Countess 
Rostova and Mme. Kardgina discuss children’s education. Appearance oi 
the Countess Viéra. 


CHAPTER XI. P. 49. 


Nikolai comforts Sonya in the conservatory. Natdsha’s mischievous kiss. 
Her engagement to Boris. Viéra shows her character to her brothers and 
sister. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 51. 


The countess and Anna Mikhdilovna have a confidential talk. The prin- 
cess acknowledges her want of money. Determines to call upon Count 
Bezukhoi. 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 55. 


Boris and his mother drive to Kirill Vladimirovitch’s. Anna Mikhdi- 
lovna’s interview with Prince Vasili. Prince Vasili’s opinion of Count 
Rostof. Boris sent to Pierre. } 


CHAPTER XIV. P. 60. 


Pierre’s visit at his father’s house. The count’s three nieces receive him 
like “a ghost or a leper.” Pierre left severely to himself. Pierre and 
Boris. Pierre’s confusion. Anna Mikhdilovna’s zeal for the old Count 
Bezukhoi’s salvation. 


CHAPTER XV. P. 65. | 
Count Rostdf’s manner of raising seven hundred rubles. The countess: 
presents the money to Anna Mikhdilovna. 


CHAPTER XVI. P. 67. 


Marya Dmitrievna Akhrésimova. Shinshin and Berg. Berg’s defence 
of his ambition. His egotism. Arrival of Pierre. Description of Marya 
Dmitrievna, Her semi-humorous attack upon Pierre. The count’s dinner 
party. Girls in love. 


| 


ia SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 367 


CHAPTER XVII. P. 73. 


' Animated conversation. Colonel Schubert’s defence of the Emperor's 
anifesto. Nikoldi’s interest in the war. His enthusiastic speech. Nata- 
1a’s mischievous remark about the ices. 


' 


CHAPTER XVIII. P. 76. 


| Sdnya’s sorrow. Natdsha’s sympathy. Sonya offers to sacrifice herself. 
he four young people sing ‘ The Fountain.” Natasha dances with Pierre. 
‘ount Rostof dances ‘‘ Daniel Cooper ’”’ with Marya Dmitrievna. 


CHAPTER XIX. P.81. : 


f 

Count Beztikhoi receives his sixth stroke of apoplexy. Scenes at the 
tansion. Prince Vasili’s interview with the Princess Katish. Discussion 
f Pierre’s chances of the inheritance. Prince Vasili’s scheme for preventing 


de 


CHAPTER XX. P. 88. 


* Anna Mikhdilovna takes Pierre to his dying father. She promises to look 
jut for his interests. They discover Prince Vasili and the Princess Katish 
jaconsultation. Scene in the anteroom. ; 


CHAPTER XXI. P. 93. 


_ Glimpse of Count Kirill Beztikhoi. Description of the bedroom. The 
‘eremony of extreme unction. Prince Vasili’s strange action. Pierre kisses 
iis father’s hand. The count’s last look. 


CHAPTER XXII. P. 98. 


The midnight scene in the petit salon. Altercation between Anna 
Wikhdilovna and Katish. Anna Mikhdilovna rescues the mosaic portfolio. 
The struggle for the same. Death of the count. Effect of the count’s death 
m Prince Vasili. Anna Mikhdilovna’s account of the count’s death. Her 
1opes from Pierre. 


CHAPTER XXIII. P. 102. 


_ Prince Nikolai A. Bolkonsky at home. His character and notions. The 

‘Srince at his lathe. His lesson to his daughter. His praise of mathematics. 
Julie Kardgina’s letter to Princess Mariya. Julie’s description of Nikolai 
Rost6f. Mariya’s reply.’ Conflicting ideas of Pierre. 

; 


CHAPTER XXIV. P. 111. 


Arrival of Prince Andréi and his wife. Meeting of Liza and Mariya. 
| ne Andréi’s annoyance. Prince Andréi and hisfather. The old prince 
ressing. 


CHAPTER XXV. P. 116. 


i 
‘ In the prince’s dining-room. The ancestral tree, Meeting of the old 
prince and Liza. Discussion of politics at table, : 


368 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


CHARTER XXVI. P. 121. 


Prince Andréi’s preparations for departure. Serious thoughts. Farewell 
interview between Mariya and Andreéi. Mariya persuades Andréi to wear 
the blessed medallion. Mariya’s criticisms on her father’s religious views. 
Coquettish Mlle. Bourienne. Liza’s flighty talk. Andréi’s farewell to his 
father. The prince’s memoirs. Farewell to Liza. 





PART ITT. ° (18 0Gm 


CHAPTER I. Pace 130. 


The Russian army and Kuttizof near Braunau. Preparation for inspec- 
tion. Condition of the regiments. The regimental commander. A change 
of orders. Dolokhof cashiered. The blue capote. Captain Timodkhin of 
Company Three. 


CHAPTER II. P. 134. 


Arrival of Kuttizof. The review. Prince Andréi and Nesvitsky, 
Zherkof. The Hussar mimic. Prince Andréi reminds Kutwzof of Dolokhof, 
Timo6khin’s account of Dolékhof. Regimental comments on Kuttizof, 
‘‘ Singers to the front!’ Zherk6f tries to make friends with Dolokhof. 


CHAPTER III. P. 142. 


Kuttizof and the member of the Hofskriegsrath. Kuttizof’s excuses for 
not taking an active part in offensive operations. Change in Prince Andréi. 
Kuttizof’s report of him to his father. How regarded by the staff. Arrival 
of the defeated General Mack. Le malheureux Mack. Preparations for 
the campaign. Zherkof insults General Strauch. Prince Andréi’s resent- — 
ment. 


CHAPTER IV. P. 149. 


Nikolai Rost6f as yunker. Nikoldi and his horse. His conversation with — 
his German host. Description of Denisof. Lieutenant Telydnin. Disap-_ 
pearance of the purse. Nikolai forces Telydanin to refund. 


CHAPTER V. P. 157. 


Nikolai refuses to apologize to the regimental commander. Discussion 
of the matter. Nikoldi’s pride. End of inaction. . 


CHAPTER VI. P. 160. 


Kutuzof in retreat. The army crossing the Enns. The scene. View 4 
from the hill. Firing from the battery. Ti 
| 
CHAPTEReVII. P. 163. i 
The Russians crossing the bridge. Nesvitsky on the bridge. Scraps of — 


soldier talk. The German household. Denisof on the bridge Military — 
repartees, oF 


4 


SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 369 


CHAPTER VIII. P. 167. 


Appearance of the French. The Cossack patrol. The solemn gap 
between the two belligerents. The Unknown. Under fire. Passage of the 
Hussars. Nikoldi Rostéf. Ordered to burn the bridge. Misunderstanding. 
Grape. The beauty of the scene. Contrast with death and the destruction - 
‘of battle. Rost0of’s prayer. Under fire for the first time. 


CHAPTER IX. P. 176. 


The retreat of the Russians. November 9, 1805. Condition of the army. 
‘Prince Andréi wounded. Sent with a special courjer to the Austrian court 
at Briinn. Driving through the night. Weird sensations. Prince Andréi 

at the palace. Invited to meet the war-minister. Cool reception. Thoughts 
suggested by officialdom. 


CHAPTER X. P. 181. 


Prince Andréi entertained by the witty Bilibin. His character and 
career. Diplomatic subtleties. Occupation of Vienna. Buonaparte or 
Bonaparte? Illusions. 


CHAPTER XI. P. 186. 


Prince Andréi meets the fashionable set — “les ndétres.’’ Prince Tppolit 
Kurdagin and the others at Bilibin’s. Prince Ippolft, the butt, entangled. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 189. 


Prince Andréi at the levee. Received by the Emperor Franz. Over- 
whelmed with invitations. Invested with the order of Maria Theresa of the 
third degree. Hasty departure of the Court. Bilibin relates the story 
of the capture of the Thabor Bridge. 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 194. 


Prince Andréi returns to the army. The confusion of the Russian army. 
“The doctor’s wife. The drunken officer. Prince Andréi finds Nesvitsky. 
Kuttizof with Prince Bagration and Weirother. The dispositions. Descrip- 
tion of Bagration. Kutuzof gives Bagration his blessing. Description of 
Kuttizof. Prince Andréi begs to join Bagration. 


CHAPTER XIV. P. 200. 


Kuttizof decides to retreat from Krems to Znaim and Olmiitz. Bagration 

gent across the mountains. ‘‘ The impossible possible.”’ A trick that failed. 

The armistice. Bonaparte’s indignation at the delay. His letter to Prince 
‘Murat. Bagrdtion’s four thousand. 


CHAPTER XV. P. 203. 


._ Prince Andréi reports to Bagration. Cordially received. Reconnoitres 
the position. The sutler’s tent. Captain Tushtn with his boots off. The 
soldiers at the front. Punishment of the thief. Gossip with the French 
-Sidorof. Dolékhof spokesman. Sidorof’s glibberish French, 


VOL, 4. — 24. 


370 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


CHAPTER XVI. P. 209. 


The scene from the hill. The lay of the land. Prince Andréi’s compre- 


hension of the pesition. Discussion of death. The cannon-shot. Captain 
Tushin again. 


CHAPTER XVII. P. 211. 


The beginning of the action. Influence of the fact. The auditor. 
‘““French pan-cakes.” The Cossack killed. Tushin’s battery. Setting 
Schongraben on fire. Tushin’s covering forces withdrawn. Tushin forgot- 


ten. Importance of the general’s presence in spite of the fortuitousness of 
events. 


CHAPTER XVIII. P. 216. 


Battle scenes. At the front. Effect of the battle on Bagration. The 


enemy’s charge. ‘“‘ Left! left! left! ’’ Charge of the Sixth Jagers. The 
enemy yield. y 


CHAPTER XIX. P. 220. 


The Pavlograd hussars attacked by Lannes and defeated. Ordered to 
retreat. Quarrel between the two officers. The challenge. The test. Ros. 
tof’s squadron facing the enemy. Thecharge. Nikoldi’ssensations. Niko- 


lai falls. The hook-nosed Frenchman. Nikolai runs. Escapes. A 
benumbed arm. 


CHAPTER XX. P. 226. 


Demoralization in the ranks. Timokhin’s firmness. Dolékhof’s gallantry. 
Tushin still at work. Death in the battery. Tushin’s gallantry. His im- 
agination. Mdadtushka Matvéyevna. Prince Andréi sent to recall Tushin- 
Sights on the battery. 


* 


CHAPTER XXI. P. 232. 


Nikolai given a ride on the gun-carriage of the Matvéyevna. Bivouac. 
The living river. The night scene. After the battle. Rost06f’s sensations. 
Scraps of talk. Tushin summoned to the general. Bagration at the cottage. | 
The captured standard. The regimental commander’s story. True because 
he believes it true. Praise for the blameworthy. Blame for the praiseworthy. 
Tushin called to account. Prince Andréi defends Tushin. A splendid ; 
tribute. Nikoldi’s illusion. The conjunction of forces effected. } 


.f 


PART) LLL nA SOBM 


: 
CHAPTER I. Paar 240. | 

Prince Vasili’s character. His scheme to marry his daughter to Pierre: 
Pierre appointed gentleman-in-waiting. Pierre in demand. The effect of 
wealth. Behavior of the long-waisted Katish. Pierre is generous. Prince 
Vasili manages Pierre’s affairs. Keeps some for himself. Pierre warmly 
received in Petersburg. Another reception at Mlle. Scherer’s. Ellen’s— 
self-reliance. Pierre’s snuff-boxes. Ma tante. Ellen’s sensuous beauty. 
Her power over Pierre. Pierre fits up his Petersburg mansion. Pierre ae 
up Ellen’s character. Ugly stories about her. T 


q 


SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 371 


CHAPTER II. P. 249.- 


- Pierre realizes his danger. Fascinated. Prince Vasili’s tactics. Ellen’s 
tame-day. The Princess Kuragina. Prince Vasili the life of the company. 
Tis anecdote of Sergyéi Kuzmitch Vyazmitinof and the Imperial rescript. 
Zllen and Pierre. Young love and its aloofness. Pierre absent-minded. 
>rince Vasili brings the affair to a crisis. “Je vous aime.’? Pierre married. 


/ CHAPTER III. P. 257. 


Prince Vasfli announces his coming to Luisiya Gorui. Prince Nikolat’s 
ypinion of Prince Vasili. Out of sorts. The inspection. Alpdatuitch has to 
shovel back the snow. The prince at dinner. Liza.at Luisiya Gorui. The 
‘minister.’ Mlle. Bourienne’s audacity. Prince Nikolai visits his daughter- 
n-law. Arrival of Prince Vasili. Anatél’s character. The Princess 
Martya’s dread of her suitor. Liza and Mlle. Bourienne endeavor to im- 
prove Mariya’s beauty Their failure. Mariya’s day-dreams. God’s answer 
to her prayer. , 


CHAPTER IV. P. 266. 


Princess Mariya comes down into the drawing-room. Anat0l’s self-reli- 
ance. His behavior toward women. Liza’s liveliness. General conversa- 
tion. _ Prince Nikoldi’s thoughts concerning the prospective suitor. Prince 
Bolkonsky takes offence at his daughter’s hair. Prince Vasili’s proposals: 
Effect of Anatol on the women ot the household. Mlle. Bourienne’s aspira- 
tions. ‘‘Ma pauvre mere.” Anatdl’s breach of etiquette misinterpreted. 


CHAPTER V. P. 274. 


Liza’s fretfulness. The old prince considers and makes up his mind. 
The princess consults with her father. Princess Martya granted perfect 
freedom of choice. She discovers Anatél and Mlle. Bourienne in the con- 
servatory. Princess Mariya’s adverse decision. Forgives Mlle. Bourienne. 


CHAPTER VI. P. 280. 


_ At the Rostof’s. Letters from Nikolai. How to break the news to the 
countess. The girls try to recollect Nikolai. Pétya’s superiority. The 
countess told. Letters to Nikolai. 


/ 


CHAPTER VII. P. 286. 


In camp near Olmiitz. Nikolai promoted to cornet. Nikoldi visits Boris 
who is with Berg. Difference between the young men. Nikoldi’s indigna- 
sion with Boris. Berg’s account of the Grand Duke. Nikolai tells about 
) Schongraben. Unconscious exaggeration. Arrival of Prince Andrei. Nik- 
lai quarrels with him. Threatened duel. 


| 
| CHAPTER VIII. P. 295. 


The emperors review the troops. Nikoldi’s enthusiasm. Nikolai ox 
aorseback. 


oie SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PRACE.” 


CHAPTER IX. P. 300. 


Boris visits Prince Andréi at Olmiitz. Headquarters. The unwritten 
code. Prince Andréi and the general. Prince Andréi takes Boris to see 
Prince Dolgorukof. The council of war. Prince Dolgortikof’s anecdotes of 
Napoleon. The men who decide the fate of nations. 


CHAPTER X. P. 306. 


Ready for action. Nikolai in the reserve. The emperor again. Skir- 
mish at Wischau. The emperor inspects the field. The supper. Nikoldi’s 
toast. 


CHAPTER XI. P. 311. 


Savary’s mission to the emperor. Dolgorikof sent to confer with Napo- 
leon. December, 1805. Comparison of an army to a great clock. Dolgorikof 
describes his visit to Napoleon. Weirother’s plan. Kuttizof’s prophecy. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 316. 


Council of war. Comparison of Weirother to a horsa attached to a loaded 
team. Drowsy Kuttizof. Weirother’s ‘“disposition.” Discussion. After 
the council of war. Prince Andréi’s doubts. His forebodings. His aspira- 
tions. The servants teasing Kuttzof’s cook. | 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 322, 


The Battle of Austerlitz (1805). Nikolai at the front. His sensations. His 
jeu de mots. Commotion among the French. “ Vive VEmpereur!” Visit - 
of Bagration. Nikoldi sent to reconnoitre. Nikoléi reports. Asks to be — 
transferred from the reserve. N apoleon’s order to his army. 


CHAPTER XIV. P. 328. 


The morning of the battle. Limitations of a soldier. Compared to a — 
ship. Gossip in the lines. Confusion. Beginning of the battle. View : 
‘zom the Pratzer. Napoleon and his marshals. The key of the sitnation. 
Napoleon gives the order to begin. 


CHAPTER XV. P. 333. 


Kuttizof at Pratzen. The marching of the troops. Prince Andréi’s 
emotions. Kuttizof’s behavior toward the Austrian colleague. The empe- — 
ror and Kutuzof. ‘‘ Why do we not begin ?” The Apsheron regiment. 
Milorddovitch’s charge. 


CHAPTER XVI. P. 339. 


; 
; 
: 
Unexpected appearance of the French. Kutuzof wounded. Defeat. ‘ 
Prince Andréi tries to save the day. Battle scenes, Prince Andréi ~ 
wounded. Infinite depths of sky. ; 


CHAPTER XVII. P. 343, ai 
The right wing. Bagration sends Nikoldi to Kuttizof. His exciting i 


ride. The charge of the Leib-Uhlans. Narrow escape. Boris. Berg — 
wounded. Evil presentiments. ‘= 


{ 


SYNOPSIS OF.“WAR AND PEACE.” 373 


CHAPTER XVIII. P. 348. 


Rostéf’s ride continued. Demoralization of the forces. The fatal field. 
Rostéf finds the emperor, but dares not address him. Rostéf’s despair. 
Sule cook again. Five o’clock p.m. The dike of Augest. Cannonade. 

olokhof. 


) CHAPTER XIX. P.3 


Prince Andréi left on the field. Napoleon. Tnsignificance of Napoleon 
compared to the infinite heaven. Napoleon and Prince Repnin. Lieutenant 
Sukhtilen’s beautiful answer. Napoleon addresses Prince Andréi. The 
medallion. His feverish imaginations. Dr. Larrey’s diagnosis. A hopeless 
case. . 





wiieet he PART WJ... (1806-1811.) 
CHAPTER I. Pace 1. 


’ Nikoldi goes home on _furlongh. Arrival. Greetings. Sdénya’s beauty. 
‘Reception of Denisof. The next morning. Natdsha’s delight. Natasha 
‘burns her arm for Sénya. Nikoldi’s decision concerning Sénya. Natasha 
determines to be a ballet-dancer. Nikoldi and Sénya. Denisof surprises 
Nikolai. : 

CHAPTER II. P. 9. 


Nikoldi’s reception by his friends. He drifts away from Sénya. Count 
J. A. Rostéf’s preparation for a dinner in honor of Prince Bagration. Anna 
Mikhdiloyna sympathizes with Pierre’s marital misfortunes. Dolékhof’s 
baseness. The great banquet at the English Club. The leaders of society. 


The heroes of the war. Berg’s fame. 


CHAPTER III. P. 15. 


The guests. Pierre. Naritishkin’s story. Shinshin’s jest. Count I. A. 
Rostof’s solicitude. Bagration’s appearance. Nikolai presented. Moscow 
hospitality personified. P. I. Kutuzof’s cantata. The toasts. 


CHAPTER IV. P. 20. 


The anonymous letter. Pierre’s doubts. Dolo6khof and Ellen. Dold- 
eat vid ge The quarrel. The challenge. No apology. The duel at 
ok6lniki. 


CHAPTER V. P. 25. 


The duel. Dolékhof wounded. Doldékhof’s tenderness for his mother and 
sister. 


CHAPTER VI. P. 27. 


Pierre’s reflections after the duel. His recollections of Ellen’s behavior. 


| “Right or wrong?” Pierre and Ellen, Pierre’s righteous indignation, 


_ Separation, 


O14 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR.AND PEACE.” 


CHAPTER VII. P. 32. 


Disappearance of Prince Andrei. Kuttizof’s letter to the old prince. The 
old prince announces the news to his daughter. Princess Mariya tries to tell 
Liza. Effect of the news on the old prince. 


CHAPTER VIII. P. 35. 

Liza’s confinement. Princess Mariya in her room. The solemn event. 
The weather. The old nydnya’s tale. The dohktor. Arrrival of Prince 
Andrei, 

CHAPTER IX. P. 40, 


The baby. Death of Liza. The old prince and his son, The mute 
appeal. The christening of Nikolai Andréyitch. ) 


CHAPTER X. P. 42, 
Nikolai appointed adjutant to the Governor-General of Moscow. Niko- 
lai’s friendship with Dolékhof. Mrs. Dolokhof’s admiration for her gon. 


Dolokhof’s lofty philosophy. The happy winter. The Rost6fs’ home. Na- 
tasha’s judgment of Dolékhof. Of Denisof. Young love. The coming war. 


CHAPTER XI. P. 46. 


Sonya and Dolékhof. Doldkhof proposes. Refused. Natdsha’s predic- 
tion. Nikoldi advises Sdénya to reconsider. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 48. 


Togel’s ball. The girls transfigured._ Denisof's enthusiasm. Natdsha 
persuades Denisof to dance with her. Denisof’s wonderful dancing. 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 52. 


Nikolai invited to dine with Doldkhof. Cards and champagne. Rostéf 
fleeced. 


CHAPTER XIV. P. 55. 


Nikolai’s losses. ‘When will you pay me?” 


CHAPTER XV. P. 58. 


The Rostéfs at home. Denjsof’s poem. Music. Nikoldi’s thoughts. 
Suicide? Natdsha sings. Her voice and method. Her power. 


CHAPTER XVI. P. 62. 


Nikolai confesses his “debt of honor.” Denfsof proposes. Refused. His_ 
departure. 


SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” Sig 


RAE. AT: 
CHAPTER I. Pace 66. 


Pierre’s journey to Petersburg. At Torzhék. Pierre’s reflections. ‘Right 
and wrong’? once more. The screw that would not hold. The little old 
‘man. The strange servant. The ring. 


CHAPTER II. P. 69. 


The stranger speaks. Freemasonry. God. Belief. Highest wisdom. 
The Freemason’s advice. Bazdéyef’s influence. ; 


CHAPTER III. P. 75. 


Count Villarsky. Question anticipatory. The initiation. The seven 
virtues. The signs and symbols. 


CHAPTER IV. P. 82. 
The Fraternity. The ceremony. 


CHAPTER V. P. 86. 


The sacred square. Prince Vasili. Pierre refuses to submit to arbitration. 
Pierre’s departure. 


CHAPTER VI. P. 88. [1806.] 


& 


Popular rumors about the duel. Ellen’s return to Petersburg. Received 
by society. Anna Pdvlovna’s receptions. Boris Drubétskoi as a lion. 
Boris’s success. Boris relates his visit to the Prussian army. Ellen takes 


Boris up. 
| CHAPTER VII. P. 92. 


Ippolit’s jest about ‘‘ the king of Prussia.” Political conversation. Boris 
invited to dine with Ellen. 


CHAPTER VIII. P. 94. 
Prince Bolkénsky appointed local commander-in-chief of the landwehr. 


Life at Luisiya Gorui. The monument to Liza. Prince Andréi at home. 
Prince Andréi as nurse.. The baby prince. Letter from the old prince. 


CHAPTER IX. P. 98. 


Bilibin’s letter. Account of the campaign. The baby prince out of dan- 
ger. “ All that is left me now.” 


CHAPTER X. P. 102. 


Pierre visits Kief. Plans for economic reform. Pierre’s wealth. His 
debts. Pierre’s life in the province. Fulfilling his Masonic obligations. 
Difficulties. Visits his estates. Illusions. The chief overseer’s tricks. 


376 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


CHAPTER XI. P. 107. 


Pierre visits Prince Andréi at Boguchdrovo. The estate. Change in 
Prince Andréi. Discussion of Pierre’s affairs. Living for one’s neighbor, 
Happiness in life. Schools, Physical labor. How to treat the peasantry. 
Prince Andréi’s hatred of the military service. Prince Andréi’s account of 
his father. Inconsistencies. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 115, 


Journey to Lufsiya Gérui. Discussion of man’s destiny. Freemasonry. © 
The scene on the river. The ladder of existence. God. The lofty heavens 
again. 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 119. 


The “Men of God” (Bozhiye Liudi). The pilgrim woman’s story. The 
miracle. Prince Andréi’s “ blasphemy.” He 


CHAPTER XIV. P.'123. 


The Princess Mariya’s solicitude about her brother. The old prince 
approves of Pierre. Received as one of the family. 


CHAPTER XV. P. 195. 


Nikolai returns to his regiment. The army life. Good resolutions. The 
Pavlograd regiment (Pavlogrddsiu). The weather in April, 1806. Disease. 
The fatal root. Nikolai and the pretty Polka. Almost a duel. 


CHAPTER XVI. P. 199. 


Denisof and Nikolai at the front. The earth hut. Mashka’s sweetwort. 
Games. Dentsof in trouble. Dentsof’s indignation. His fit. Exaggerated 
account of Denisof’s behavior. Denisof’s obstinate gallantry. Wounded. 


CHAPTER XVII. P. 134. 


Nikolai visits Denisof at the hospital. Hospital scenes. The dead 
soldier. 


CHAPTER XVIII. P. 138. 
The officer’s ward. Captain Tushin. Denjsof’s document. Asks pardon. 


CHAPTER XIX. P, 141. 
The interview at Tilsit (June 25, 1806). Boris on hand. Count Zhilin- 


sky’s dinner. The blue spectacles of high society. Nikoldi’s inopportune 


visit. Nikolai and Boris. 


CHAPTER XX. P. 145. 


Nikolai tries to present Denisof’s petition. Rebuffed. The Emperor. 
The Emperor’s decision. 


CHAPTER XXI. P. 149. 


The two emperors. Napoleon decorates Lazdref. Napoleon’s appear. 
ance. Comments among the soldiers. Nikoldi’s painful reflections. Con- 
trasts. Nikoldi’s violence at dinner. 


SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 377 


PART III. 


CHAPTER I. Page 154. 


(1808.) Political complications. Prince Andréi’s life and labors in the 
-gountry. His knowledge of affairs. His journey to Riazin. The bare oak. 
‘Pessimistic ideas. 


i CHAPTER II. P. 157. 


Prince Andréi calls upon Count I. A. Rostof. The Rostéfs’ life. The 
_view from Prince Andréi’s window. Prince Andréi overhears Natasha and 
‘Sonya talking. 


; CHAPTER III. P. 160. 


~The oak in leaf. Rebirth of joy. Change in Prince Andréi. Decides to 
go to Petersburg. , 


CHAPTER IV. P. 162. 


— 


(August, 1809.) Speransky’s reforms. Liberal dreams. The Emperor’s 
disapproval of Prince Andrei. Count Arakchéyef’s waiting-room. . Tie 
| minister of war. 
| CHAPTER V. P. 165. 

Prince Andréi in society. The reception at Count Kotchubey’s. Prince 
- Andréi’s emancipation scheme discussed. Prince Andréi introduced to 

Speransky. Montesquieu’s maxims. 


CHAPTER VI. P. 171. 
Prince Andréi’s absorption in affairs. Intimacy with Speransky. Sper- 


ansky’s personality. Prince Andréi appointed a member of the Committee 
on Revision of the Military Code. 


CHAPTER VII. P. 174. 

Pierre at Petersburg. Head of the Masons. Disillusions. The four 
classes of Masons. Pierre goes abroad. Pierre’s report of his visit abroad. 
Dissatisfaction with Pierre’s theories. 

CHAPTER VIII. P. 178. 
Overtures for reconciliation with Ellen. Pierre’s melancholy. His diary. 


Iosiph Alekséyevitch’s exposition of Masonic doctrines. Pierre receives his 
wife back. 


CHAPTER IX. P. 181. 


Petersburg cliques. Ellen’s salon. Her reputation as a clever woman. 
Her character. Boris Drubetskoi. Society’s views of Pierre. 


CHAPTER X. P. 184. 


Pierre’s mystic diary. Pierre and Boris. Strange visions. 


378 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


CHAPTER XI. P. 187. 


The Rostofs at Petersburg. Their finances. Berg becomes engaged te 


Viéra. Berg’s boastfulness. Story of his engagement. The marriage por- 
tion. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 191. 
Natasha and Boris. Boris charmed. N atasha apparently in love. 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 193. 


Natasha’s bedtime confidences. The old countess’s good advice. Natdé- 
sha’s droll judgment of Boris and Pierre ; on herself. Boris receives his congé. 


CHAPTER XIV. P. 197. 


The Naruishkins’ ball. Preparations at the Rost6éfs’. The girls’ toilets. — 
Count Ilya’s superb costume. Last stitches. 


CHAPTER XV. P. 201. 


On the way. The arrival. The notabilities. Countess Beztikhaya, 


Pierre. Prince Andréi. 


CHAPTER XVI. P. 204. ' 
Arrival of the Emperor and Empress. Natdsha’s disappointment. A 


family gathering. Pierre introduces Prince Andréi to Natdsha. Natdsha’s 
maidenly charm. Natdsha in demand. Pierre’s moroseness. 


CHAPTER XVII. P. 208. 


Prince Andréi dances a cotillion with Natdésha. Reminds her of his visit | 
to Otradnoyé. Natdsha’s naive enthusiasm. 


CHAPTER XVIII. P. 210. 
The gossip Bitsky. Account of the Imperial Council. Prince André 
dines en famille with Speransky. The laughing statesmen, — Magnitsky, 


Gervais, and Stoluipin. Funny stories. Prince Andréi’s disappointment in 
Speransky. 


CHAPTER XIX. P. 215. 
Prince Andréi calls upon the Rostofs. Charming Natdsha. Her singing. 
Her effect on Prince Andréi. 
CHAPTER XX. P. 217. 


Pierre invited to Berg’s little party. The Bergs at home. Desultory 
talk. A characteristic evening. rt 





SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 379 


CHAPTER XXI. P. 220. 


Natdsha and Prince Andrét. Viéra’s subtile diplomacy. Impertinent 
suggestions. Discussion of Natasha’s character. 


CHAPTER XXII. P. 223. 


Prince Andréi dines with the Rostofs. Natasha confides in her mother. 


- The Countess Ellen’s rout. Pierre’s abstraction. Prince Andréi confides in 


. Pierre. 


CHAPTER XXIII. P. 227. 


Prince Andréi visits his father. The old prince refuses his sanction. 
Natdsha’s dejection. Prince Andréi’s unexpected arrival. His proposal. A 
secret engagement. 


CHAPTER XXIV. P. 233. 


Relations between Natdsha and Prince Andréi. Prince Andréi com- 
mends Natasha to go to Pierre for any help. And goes abroad. Effect on 


' Natdsha of his absence. 


CHAPTER XXV. P. 236. 

Prince N. A. Bolkonsky’s ill health. His treatment of the Princess . 
Mariya. Princess Mariya’s letter to Julie Karagina. 
CHAPTER: AXVI. °P. 239. 

Prince Andréi writes to his sister about his engagement. Princess 


Mariya consults with her father. The old prince’s attentions to Mlle. 
Bourienne. Princess Mariya’s consolations. Her pilgrim outfit. 





j nad 2 £4 hood hi 


CHAPTER I. PAGE 243. 

The curse of idleness. The attraction of the military service. Nikolai 
in 1809. His letters home. Leave of absenceg The parting dinner. Niko- 
lai “ tossed.”? Thoughts during a journey. Arrival at Otradnoye. Sonya’s 
beauty. Changes in Natasha and Pétya. The postponed marriage. 


CHAPTER II. P. 247. 


Nikoldi undertakes to regulate the finances. Nikoldi thrashes Mitenka. 
The note of hand. 


CHAPTER III. P. 249. 


. (1810.) Country scenes in September. , The dogs. Milka. Danilo in the 
ouse. 


380 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


CHAPTER IV. P. 252. 


The hunt. The horses Donets, Vifl-yén-ka. The ‘Little Uncle.” Kardai 
the wolf-hound. The buffoon, Nastdsya Ivénovna. The wolf-hunt. The 
angry huntsman. 


CHAPTER V. P. 258. 
Nikoldi’s prayer. Milka and Liubim. The wolf. 


CHAPTER VI. P. 262. 


The fox-hunt. The Ildgins. The dispute. Ilagin’s courtesy. The hound 
Yorza (Yorzanka). The “ Little Uncle’s” Rugai (Rugdiushka). After 
hares. The rivalry. 


CHAPTER VII. P. 270. 


The visit at the “Little Uncle’s.” A Russian proprietor. Anisya 
(Anisyushka) Feddoroyna, the housekeeper. A zaktska. Russian music. 
Mitka’s balaldika. The ‘ Little Uncle ” plays. Natasha dances. Would 
Prince Andréi approve? The return home. Confidences. 


CHAPTER VIII. P. 279. 


The Rost6f household. Pecuniary difficulties. Attempted retrenchment. 
The hunting establishment. The countess’s hopes for Nikolai. Julie 
Karagina. Nikoldi objects. Gloomy days. 


CHAPTER IX. P. 282. 


‘The Christmas holidays at Otrddnoyé. Natdsha’s loneliness: “I want. 


him.” Natasha tries her power: rescues Mavrushka from Kondrdtyevna. 
Gives orders to the surly Fokd. Madagascar. Natdsha and Pétya. Na- 
tasha and Sonya. 


CHAPTER X. P. 286. 


Twelfth night. Confidential talk. Old recollections. The negro. 
Dimmler plays a Field nocturne. Talking philosophy. Fallen angels. 
Natasha sings. The maskers. The young folks masquerade. Projected 
visit to Mrs. Milytikova. Sdnya’s costume. The sledge ride. The race. 
The enchanted castle. 


CHAPTER XI. P. 295. 


The masqueraders re-enforced. The dances. Fortune-telling. Playing 
games. Nikolai and Sonya. » The moonlight kiss. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 300 


The ride home. “Thou.”  Nikoldi tells Natésha. Enchantment. 
Twelfth Night magic. Sdnya sees a vision. Re-action. 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 303. 


Nikolai confesses to his mother. The countess offended. The countess 
reproaches Sonya. _The quarrel. Natdsha as peacemaker. Nikoléi rejoins 
his regiment. Natdsha’s unsatisfactory letters. The Rost0fs’ return to Mos- 
cow. 





SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 381 


PARAL V. 
CHAPTER I. PaGs 307. 


Pierre’s unhappiness. Death of Iosiph Alekséyevitch. Pierre’s dissipa- 
‘tion. Pierre welcomed in Moscow. His generosity. Retired Court-Cham- 
| ities The great question ‘‘ Why?” Strong drink. The falsehood of 

lie. . 


CHAPTERII. P. 312. 


Prince N. A. Bolkonsky in Moscow. His peculiar position. The inner 
life of the family. Princess Mariya’s sufferings. Her inherited temper. 
‘Princess Mariya and Mlle. Bourienne. The prince’s treatment of the 
Frenchwoman. Princess Mariya’s compassion for her father. 


CHAPTER III. P. 316. 


_ Doctor Métivier. The old prince’s name-day, December 6 (18) 1811. The 
doctor beards the lion. The prince’s indignation. Threatens to send his 
‘daughter away. The dinner party. Count Rostépchin’s epigram. Discus- 
sion of current politics. Boris expresses his opinion. Cacoéthes Scribendi. 


| General Chatrof’s criticism. The prince’s treatment of his daughter. 
French ideas. The old prince agrees with Rostopchin. 


CHAPTER IV. P. 322. 


Pierre informs Princess Mariya of Boris Drubetskoi’s flattering atten- 
tions. Her surprise. Her tears. Discussion of Natasha. 


CHAPTER V. P. 324. 


Boris in Moscow. The Kardgins. Julie Kardgina’s character. Capping 
verses. Boris’s sentimentality. The colossal estates turn the scale. Julie’s 


diplomacy. Boris proposes to Julie. 


CHAPTER VI. P. 329. 


° 
The Rostéfs reach Moscow. Visit at Marya Dmitrievna’s Akhrosimova’s. 
Marya Dmitrievna’s character. Her warm reception. Gossip. Congratu- 
lations. Plans. 


CHAPTER VII. P. 333. | 
Count flyé Andreyévitch and Natasha call at Prince Bolkonsky’s. Na- 
tdsha misinterpreted. The count beats an inglorious retreat. The old prince 
appears. Natasha’s humiliation. 


CHAPTER VIII. P. 336. 


The opera. Natasha longs for Prince Andréi. In the Rostdfs’ box. 
Natdsha’s beauty. Gossip. The audience. Dolékhof in Persian costume. 


~ Countess Ellen. 


382 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE." 


CHAPTER IX. P. 340. 
Mock description of the opera. The intoxication of success. Anatol 


Kurdgin. Gossip. Pierre appears. The second act. Natdsha sits in Ellen’s 
box. The ballet. Duport. 


CHAPTER X. P. 346. 


Ellen presents her brother to Natasha. The barrier of modesty. Anato6l’s 
audacity. Retrospect. Natasha needs her mother’s counsel. 


CHAPTER XI. P. 349. 


Explanation of Anat6l’s position. His clandestine marriage. His char- 
acter. His intimacy with Dolékhof. His scheme. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 352, 


Marya Dmitrievna’s unsuccessful attempt at mediation. Natdsha’s unhap- 
piness. New dresses. Ellen’s call. Her flattery. Her bad influence. 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 355. 


Ellen’s reception. Mlle. Georges’s dramatic reception. The improvised 
ball. Anatdl’s declaration. Natasha bewitched. 


CHAPTER XIV. P. 358. 


Marya Dmitrievna advises the Rostofs to return to Otrddnoyé. Her 
proposal to Natasha. Princess Mariya’s letter. Anat0l’s letter. 


CHAPTER XV. P. 362. 


Sonya discovers Anat6l’s letter. Natdsha’s strange mood. Sdnya’s doubt 


of Anatol. Natdsha breaks her engagement with Prince Andréi. Count 


llya Andréyevitch visits his Podmoskovnaya estate. Sénya suspects Natasha. 


CHAPTER XVI. P. 367. : 
Anat6l at Dolékhof’s. The proposed abduction. The witnesses, Khvose- 


I-kof and Makdrin (Makérka). Dolokhof remonstrates. Anatol’s argu- 
ments. The troika driver, Balagd. Reminiscences. 


CHAPTER XVII. P. 373. 


Anatol’s farewell. The gypsy girl, Matriona (Matridsha) Matvéyevnaand 
the fox-skin shiiba. The signal. Betrayed. . 


CHAPTER XVIII. P. 375. 
Sonya tells Mérya Dmf{trievna. Natdsha scolded. Natdsha’s condition. 





SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 388 


1 


CHAPTER XIX. P. 378. 


Pierre returns to Moscow. Pierre’s judgment of Anatol. Pierre in- 
formed of the attempted elopement. Pierre’s amazement. Pierre’s inter- 
view with Natasha. | 


CHAPTER XxX. P. 382. 


Pierre in search of Anatdl. A stormy interview. His apology. Anato? 
leaves Moscow. Natdsha attempts to poison herself. 





CHAPTER XXI. P. 385. 


__ Prince Andréi’s return. Speransky’s banishment. M.. Dessalles. 
| Prince Andréi sends back Natdsha’s letters. His excitement. 





CHAPTER XXII. P. 389. 


__ Pierre delivers Prince Andréi’s message. Pierre’s outburst of frankness. 
The comet of 1812. 








ey Peery Lee A Re Or: 
CHAPTER I. PAGE 1. 


The alleged causes of the war of 1812. Theory of Fatalism. Co-opera- 
tion of causes. Personal freedom and necessity. Emperors subordinatea 
to laws. The complexity of causes. ‘‘Great Men.” Napoleon. 





CHAPTERII. P.6. 


Napoleon at Dresden, June, 1811. Joins the army on the Niemen. 
Crosses the river. Enthusiasm of the army. The Polish colonel of Uhlans. 
Crossing the Vistula. . 


CHAPTER ITT. P. 10. 
Alexander I. at Vilno. The ball at Count Benigsen’s. Countess Elleu 


and Boris. General-adjutant Balashdf. Arrival of the news. Borts first 
to learn it. Alexander’s indignation. * His letter to Napoleon. 


CHAPTER IV. P.14. 


Balashof’s mission to Napoleon. Cavalier treatment. Interview with 
Murat. Taken to Davoust. 


CHAPTER V. P. 18. 


: Character of Dayoust. Balashof’s interview with Davoust. Kept wait- 
mg. Napoleon at Vilno. 





384 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


CHAPTER VI. P. 21. 


Balashof’s interview with Napoleon. Description of Napoleon. Napox — 
leon’s pretended desire for peace. The trembling leg. Kurakin’s passport. 
What might have been. Alexander’s reception of Napoleon’s enemies. 
Napoleon’s irritation. His threat. 


CHAPTER VII. P. 28. 


Balashof dines with Napoleon. Balashof’s repartees. ‘Napoleon pulls his 
ear. 


CHAPTER VIII. P. 31. 


Prince Andréi in search of Anatél. Joins Kuttizof in Moldavia. His 
zeal. Transferred to the Western army. Visits Luisiya Gérui. Changes. 
Nikolishka. Strained relations. Plain talk with the old prince. Prince 
Andréi dismissed. His talk with Princess Mariya. Fate. 


CHAPTER IX. P. 37. 


Prince Andréi at the camp on the Drissa. Chilling reception by Barclay de 
Tolly. Prince Andréi studies the situation. The three armies. The com- _ 
manders. The essential idea. Theories. The eight great parties. Yermo- 
lof’s famous jest. The ninth party. Shishkof urges the emperor to leave 
the army. 


CHAPTER X. P. 45. 


Prince Andréi invited to meet the emperor. The council. Pfuhl, asa 
type of the German martinet. Types of conceit, French, English, Italian, 
German, and Russian. 


CHAPTER XI. P. 49. 


Prince Piotr Mikhdilovitch Volkonsky. General Armfeldt’s criticisms on _ 
the armed camp. Colonel Toll. Paulucci. Woltzogen. Confusion. Panic 
fear ef Napoleon. Prince Andréi’s sympathy with Pfuhl. Prince Andréi’s 
conclusions. Prince Andréi elects active service. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 54. 


Nikolai learns of the broken engagement. His letter to Sonya. His 
ideals. Promotion. Retreat of the army. The drunken camp. The thun- 
der shower. Story of the battle of Saltdnovo. General Rayévsky’s gal- 
lantry. Value of personal example. Zdrzhinsky. Marie Heinrichovna. 
lyin. 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 59. 


At the tavern. Getting dry. Marie Heinrichovna does the honors. 
Gallantry of the officers. The regimental doctor’s jealousy. Jolly times. 


CHAPTER XIV. P. 62. 


Sunrise after the storm. Feelings before an engagement, Battle of 
Qstrovno, The charge, Count Ostermann-Tolstoi, 





SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE: 389 


CHAPTER XV. P. 65. 


Rost6f’s gallant charge upon the French dragoons. Capture of the young 
officer. Re-action. Nikoldi’s promotion. Thoughts suggested. 


CHAPTER XVI. P. 69. 


The Rostéfs in Moscow. Natdsha’s illness. The utility of doctors. Na- 
tisha’s symptoms. 


CHAPTER XVII. P. 72. 
WNatdsha’s mental condition. Improvement. “Her affection for Pétya. 


Relations to Pierre. Agrafena Ivanovna Biélova (i.e. White). Natdsha’s devo- 
tions. Their effect. The doctor’s mistake. 


CHAPTER XVIII. P. 75. 
July, 1812. The emperor’s manifesto. Mass at the Razumovsky chapel. 


‘Natdsha’s conscious beauty. Her prayers. The new invasion prayer. 


CHAPTER XIX. P. 80. 


Pierre’s passion for Natdsha. Pierre and the Apocalyptic vision. The 
mystic (number) 666. His excitement. His reasons for not entering the 
military service. 


CHAPTER XX. P. 84. 
Pierre at the Rostofs’. Natdsha’s singing. Pétya’s anxiety to enter the 


army. Moscow gossip. Shinshin’s jests. Reading the manifesto. Pétya’s 
outbreak. Pierre almost betrays himself. 


CHAPTER XXI. P. 91. 
Arrival of the Tsar. Pétya’s experiences at the Kreml. Crushed. Ser- 


vice at the Uspiensky (Assumption) Cathedral. The dinner at the palace. 
Pétya gets the biscuit. And is allowed to enter the army. 


CHAPTER XXII. P. 96. 
The Slobodsky palace (July 27, 1812). The meeting. Uniforms. Discus: 


' sions. Pierre’s enthusiasm and hopes. Speeches. Pierre’s. Its effect. 


Glinka’s patriotism. Count Ilya Andréyevitch. 


CHAPTER XXIII. P. 102. 


Arrival of the emperor. Rost6épchin’s speech. The emperor’s words. 
The proposed levy. Pierre’s munificence. 


VOL. 4. — 25. 


386 | SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


PART II. 
CHAPTER I. Pace 105. 


Philosophy of Napoleon’s invasion. Theory of necessity. Criticism. 
Ex-post-facto prediction. Facts opposed to hypotheses. Statement of facts. 
History as seen from the perspective of distance. Union of the armies. 
Bagration’s letter to Arakchéyef. 





CHAPTER II. P. 111. 


Prince Bolkonsky and his daughter. Princess Martiya’s idea of the war. 
The prince’s break with Mlle. Bourienne. Correspondence with Julie. 
The old prince’s activity. His restlessness at night.* Letter from Prince 
Andréi. The old prince’s incredulity. His forgetfulness. His will. 


CHAPTER III. P. 115. 


The prince’s instructions to Alpatuitch. The prince retires. A vision of _ 
the past. Potemkin (Pat-ydm-kin). : . 
§ 


a 





CHAPTER. T¥i1Ps 118 


Princess Mariya writes to the governor. Alpatuitch’s departure. The 
bells. The crops. Journey to Smolénsk (Smal-yensk). The tavern-keeper 
Ferapontof. Gossip. Alpdtuitch’s interview with the governor. Baron 
Asche. The Baron’s message. Barclay de Tolly’s false ‘‘ order of the day.” 
Scenes in Smolénsk. Ferapéntof thrashes his wife. The price of wheat. . 
Story of Matvyéi Ivénuitch Platof. he cannonade. In the cellar. The 
conflagration. Plundering Ferapdntof’s shop. Prince Andréi meets Alpa- 
tuitch. Berg’s misplaced zeal. Prince Andréi’s message to his sister. ' 


CHAPTER V. P. 129. / 


The retreat. The drought. Prince Andréi’s popularity. His détour to — 
Luisiya Gorui. Scenes on the place. The little girls and the plums. The 
men bathing. Chair a canon. Letter from Prince Bagration to Arakcheéyef. 


CHAPTER VI. P. 135. 


Matter and form. Anna Pavloyna’s salon in 1812. Ellen’s clique. Prince — 
Vasili as go-between. L’homme de beaucoup de mérite. Criticisms on _ 
Kutuzof. Kuttizof made Prince (Kniaz). Change in opinion. Ill breeding 
of the homme de beaucoup de mérite. 


CHAPTER VII.. P. 140. 
Was Napoleon lured on to Moscow? Thiers’s opinion. Napoleon’s order. 
Moscou! Napoleon’s conversation with Lévrushka. Thiers’s version of the 


interview. 


* This peculiarity of Prince Bolkonsky is evidently imitated from Napoleon at St. — 
Helena: see Bourrienne’s Memoirs. 


Qe EEE Ye —— xa ee ee ST Se ee en OO ey ee 
—— PL IT TE — z PS 


SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 387 


CHAPTER VIII.. P. 144. 


Prince Bolkonsky arms the landwehr. Princess Mariya refuses to leave. 
The stroke of paralysis. Taken to Bogucharovo. The change. Mariya’s 
hopes. Her remorse. Her farewell interview with her father. His affec- 
aa for her. His death. His appearance on the death-bed. On the cata- 
alque. 


CHAPTER IX. P. 153. 


Characteristics of the Boguchdrovo peasantry. The approach of Anti- 
Christ. Dronushka. The starosta. His excuses for not furnishing horses. 
Conversation between Ydékof Alpdtuitch and Dron.- 


CHAPTER X. P. 158. 


Princess Mariya. Her interview with Mlle. Bourienne. Bourienne 
urges her to accept General Rameau’s protection. Princess Martya’s indig- 
nation. Her interview with Dron. Dron’s falsehood. Princess Mariya’s 


_ proposal to share the corn. 


CHAPTER XI. P. 163. 
The gathering of the peasants. Princess Mariya’s speech. The represen- 


' tative of her family. Misunderstanding. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 166. 


Princess Marfya’s retrospection. Midnight at Boguchdrovo. Review of 
her father’s illness. 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 168. 


Nikolai and Tyin visit Boguchdrovo. Nikoldi and the drunken men. 
Nikolai and Alpétuitch. Dron sides with the peasants. Nikoldi’s interview 
with Princess Mariya. His courtesy. 


CHAPTER XIV. P. 173. 


Nikolai manages the insurgent peasants. Escorts Princess Mariya to 
Yankovo. Her gratitude. Romance. Nikoldi loses his temper. 


CHAPTER XV. P. 178. 


Prince Andréi joins Kuttizof at Tsarevo-Zdimishchi. Denisof again. 
Denisof’s bold scheme. Arrival of Kuttzof. His appearance. Sorrow at 
Prince Bolkonsky’s death. Denisof broaches his scheme. Kututzof trans- 
acts business. Kuttizof’s scorn of sense and science. German punctilio. 


CHAPTER XVI. P. 184. 


Interview between Prince Andréi and Kuttizof. Kuttizof cunctator. - 
“Time and patience.” His genuine Russian character. ‘ Don’t,” 


CHAPTER XVII. P. 188, 


Life in Moscow. The two voices. Rostopchin’s placards. Kdarpushka 
Chigirin. Shinshin’s jest. Picking lint. Fines for talking French. Gos- 


‘Sip concerning the Rostofs. Nikolai and Princess Mariya. 


388 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


CHAPTER XVIII. | 


False reports. Pierre’s doubts. The princess’salarm. Pierre remains ip 
Moscow. Difficulty in raising money. Leppich’s balloon. Alexander’s let- 
ter to Rost6pchin. The flogging of a French cook. Pierre’s coachman Yev- 
stdfyevitch. Pierre at Perkhushkdévo. Pierre hears of the battle of Borodin6. 
Pierre at Mozhaisk. The joy of sacrifice. 


CHAPTER XIX. P. 198. 


Borodin6, September 7, 1812. Discussion of the advantages of Borodino. 
The result.’ Risk to Napoleon. Comparison between war and checkers. 
Absurdity of the historians. Description of the battle. Sketch of the battle- 
field. Thefallacy. Proofs. Necessity of shielding Kutuzof. The real state 
of the case. 


CHAPTER XX. P. 204. 


Pierre leaves Mozhdisk. The train of wounded. The cavalry regiment. 
The singers. Pierre and the soldiers. Pierre and the doctor. Pierre’s reflec- 
tions before the battle. Pierre reaches Gorki. The landwehr at work on the 
fortifications. 


CHAPTER XXI. P. 208. 


Bird’s-eye view of the battle-field. The officer’s account of the Russian 
position. ‘The procession of the Ivérskaya Virgin. The field Te Deum. 
Kuttizof before the ikon. : 


CHAPTER XXII. P. 212. 


Boris Drubétskoi. Proposes to Pierre to witness the battle with Benig- 
sen’s staff. Criticises Kutuzof. Pdisi Sergéyevitch Kaisdrof. Kutuzof 
summons Pierre. Dolodkhof again. Marin’s poem. Doldkhof apologizes. 
Benigsen’s invitation. 


CHAPTER XXIII. P. 216. 


Riding round the lines. The Kurgannaya battery. Bagrdation’s fleches. 
The hare. Benigsen changes one of Kuttizof’s dispositions. 


CHAPTER XXIV. P. 218. 


Prince Andréi at Kniazkovo. New views of life, love, and death. Cap- 
tain Timokhin. Pierre arrives. Prince Andréi’s annoyance. 


CHAPTER XXvV. P. 221. 


Discussion of men and measures. Timdkhin’s pun. “A skilful com- 
mander.” Prince Andréi on Barclay de Tolly. Prince Andréi’s science of 
war. Those who win. Woltzogen and Klauzewitz ride by. A fragment of 
talk. ‘‘No quarter.” Significance of the war. Latent heat of patriotism. 
Prince Andréi’s idea of war. ‘‘Good-by.” Prince Andréi’s recollections of 
Natdsha. Why he loved her. 


CHAPTER XXVI. P. 229. 


Napoleon’s camp at Valtiyevo. Napoleon at his toilet. The Empress’s . 
ift. Gérard’s portrait. The King of Rome. Making history. Enthusiasm 
in the French army. 





SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 389 


CHAPTER XXVII. P. 233. 
The day before Borodind. Napoleon’s actions. His dispositions. The 


famous plan. Criticism of the plan. Why the various details failed to be 
carried out. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. P. 236. 
Napoleon’s influenza. Effect on the battle. Was a negligent valet the 


savior of Russia? Fatalism in history. Napoleon as the representative of 
Power. A fictitious commander. 


CHAPTER XXIX. P. 239. 
Napoleon before the battle. ‘The chessmen are set.” His coolness. 


“Fortune is a fickle jade.” Definition of ‘‘our bodies.” ‘The art of war.” 
The signal guns. . 


CHAPTER XXX. P. 242. 


Pierre views the battle-field from the hill. Magnificence of the panorama. 
The firing. 


CHAPTER XXXII. P. 245. 
Pierre at the bridge. Under fire. Le baptéme du feu. Pierre at the 
Kurgdin. Adopted by the artillerymen. Scraps of conversation. Lack of 


ammunition. Death of the little officer. Pierre goes after ammunition. 
Stunned. . 


CHAPTER XXXII. P. 253. 
The struggle in the battery. Yermdlof’s charge. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. P. 255. 


Chief action of Borodind. Napoleon’s enforced ignorance. Impossibility 
of directing such a battle. The domain of death. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. P. 259. ‘ 
Re-enforcements. Napoleon’s indecision. Napoleon and Belliard. Beaus- 


set proposes breakfast. Napoleon like a gambler. Meaning of the long- 
deferred victory. Napoleon inspects the. field. Wholesale butchery. 


CHAPTER XXXV. P. 264. 


_, Kutizof. The German generals. Shcherbinin’s report. Woltzogen’s © 
despair. Kuttizof’s indignation. Rayévsky. Esprit du corps. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. P. 268. 
__ Prince Andréi with the reserve under fire. Incidents. The cinnamon- 


colored puppy. The bunch of wormwood. The bursting shell, Prince 
_Andréi wounded. Carried to the field lazaret. 


390 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. P. 273. 


The general impression. The Tatar under the probe. Recollections of 
childhood. Anatol’s leg amputated. Natasha. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. P. 276. 


Napoleon’s sang-froid. Consents to a massing of artillery. Napoleon’s 
St. Helena judgment of the Russian war. 


CHAPTER XXXIX. P. 280. 


After the battle. The message of the rain. Reasons for quiescence. 
Would the battle have been won had Napoleon used his Old Guard ? 
Exhaustion of the French morale. What is victory ? The wounded beast 
of prey. Consequence of the battle. 





HAR Labi 
CHAPTER I. Pace 283. 


Continuous motion. Achilles and the tortoise. The law of infinitesimals. 
Reasons for the national movement, 1800-1812. Fallacies. Simultaneous 
causes. The proper course of history. 


CHAPTER II. P. 286. 


The law of velocity applied to the Invasion. The “ beast” fatally wounded. 
Kuttizof’s report of victory. Why no attempt to fight another battle was 
made. Conditions which hedge a commander. Criticisms on Kutuzof. 
The decision to abandon Moscow. When really made. 


CHAPTER III. P. 290. 


Kuttizof on Paklonnaya Hill. Council of war. The various groups. 
aired zeal to defend Moscow. His motive. Kuttizof cuts short the 
iscussion. 


CHAPTER IV. P. 293. 


The council at Savostydnof’s cottage. Little Maldsha. The participants: 
Kaisdrof, Yermolof, Barclay de Tolly, Uvdrof, Dokhttirof, Ostermann- 
Tolstdi, Konovnitsuin, Benigsen. The question broached. Moscow prac- 
tically abandoned. Dispute between the “little grandfather’ and ‘ Long- 
Skirt.” Final decision. 


CHAPTER V. P. 297. 


_ Rostépchin’s behavior. The people. Russian fatalism. Why did the 
rich abandon Moscow? Its majestic significance. Count Rostopchin’s. 
behavior. His doggerel. Like a child. 


SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 391 


CHAPTER VI. P. 300. 


Ellen’s dilemma. The old grandee or the young prince? Her ultimatum. 
Her belief in her own prerogative. Her arguments for divorce @ la Napo- 
léon. Ellen and the Romanist priest. The result. Her conversion to 


Roman Catholicism. Her idea of religion. Venial sin. M. de Jobert. 


CHAPTER VII. P. 303. 


Ellen’s scheme. Gossip. Marya Akhrosimova’s frankness. Prince 
Vasili’s advice. Bilibin’s suggestion. His bon mot. Ellen’s mother. 
Her jealousy. Visit from the Prinz. Ellen’s diplomacy. Her letter to 
Pierre. ; 


CHAPTER VIII. P. 307. 


Pierre after the battle. The three soldiers. Pierre joins them. Returns 
- to Mozhdaisk. Discovered by his man. 


CHAPTER IX. P. 310. 


Subjective sensations. They. Pierre’s dream. The Benefactor. Con- 
fused waking. Pierre sets forth from Mozhdisk. News. 


CHA PTH x2 1P. 9318, 


(September 11, 1812.) Pierre summoned before Rostépchin at Sok6lniki. 
The ante-room. The bulletin. Rumors about Pierre’s divorce. Veresh- 
chagin the traitor. Anecdotes. Kliuchdref. 


CHAPTER .XI. °P. 316. 


Pierre before Rostépchin. Advised to leave Moscow. Goes home. 
Reads his wife’s letter. Pierre’s disappearance. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 319. 


The Countess Rostéva’s anxiety about her sons. Her predilection for 
Petya. Pétya with Obolyensky’s Cossacks. His independence. Rumors 
in Moscow. Packing up. Sonya’s practical activity. Her melancholy. 
Natdsha’s gayety. Reasons for it. ‘ 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 323. 


Scene at the Rostofs’ (Sept. 11, 1812). Getting ready to start. Natdsha’s 
idleness. Arrival of the wounded train. Mavra Kuzminitchna. Natdsha 
invites them in. Extorts her mother’s permission. The count’s agitation. 
Pétya’s budget of news. The countess’s wile. 


CHAPTER XIV. P. 327. 


Hastening preparations. Natasha suddenly shows her capacity. Success 
in packing. Arrival of Prince Andréi. 


392 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


CHAPTER XV. P. 330. 


‘‘Last day” of Moscow. Indications. Value of teams. The demand on 
the count. The count yields. The countess’s indignation. 


CHAPTER XVI. P. 333. 


Arrival of Berg. Berg’s present position. His account of affairs. Asks 
a favor. The chiffonier. Natdsha’s outburst. ‘‘The eggs teach the old 
hen.” The order to unpack. The teams given over to the wounded. 


CHAPTER XVII. P. 339. 


Sénya learns of Prince Andréi’s presence. She tells the countess. Natd- 
sha suspects something. The farewell prayer. The departure. Natasha 
discovers Pierre in peasant costume. The interview. Pierre’s confusion. 
Natasha wishes she were a man. 


CHAPTER XVIII. P. 3%. 


Account of Pierre’s motions. Bazdéyef’s books. Gerdsim. Makdr Alek- 
séyevitch Bazdéyef. The library. Pierre incognito. 


CHAPTER XIX. P. 347. 


(Sept. 13, 1812.) The Russian troops evacuate Moscow. Napoleon on 
Salutation Hill. September weather. View of Moscow. Moscou as a de- 
flowered virgin. Napoleon’s ruminations. His prospective speech. Non- 
appearance of the expected deputation. Alarm of the suite. Moscow 
deserted. Advance on the city. Le ridicule. 


CHAPTER XX... P. 351: 


Comparison of deserted Moscow to a queenless bee-hive. Napoleon 
informed. A fiasco. 


CHAPTER XXI. P. 354. 


The Russian soldiery leaving Moscow. Plundering. The glimpse of 
convicts. Attempts to stop looting. Appeal of the pimply merchant. 
Attempts to bribe. Comical scene at the bridge. 


CHAPTER XXII. P. 357. 


The Rostéf mansion. Igndt and Mishka. Mdavra Kuzminitchna brings 
order out of chaos. Count Rostdéf’s nephew (?). Mdavra Kuzminitchna gives 
him money. 


CHAPTER XXIII. P. 359. 


The kabak on the Varvarka. The factory hands. The dispute between 
the leather worker and the smith. The row. Off to Rostépchin’s. The 
growing mob. Rostépchin’s placard of Sept.11. The chief of police. Cheat- 
ing the mob. 


SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 393 


CHAPTER XXIV. P. 364. 


Rostopchin returns to Moscow. His indignation. Letter from Kutuzof. 
Criticism upon Rostépchin’s conduct. Self-constituted director of popular 
sentiment. His orders to the different nachdlniks. Lunatics and convicts 
released. 


CHAPTER XXV. P. 368. 


The pilot of the ship of state. Political storm. Rostépchin and the mob. 
Young Vereshchagin (Vee-resh-tchdh-geen). Rostépchin offers a scapegoat. 
“One God over us.” The crime. Murder of Vereshchdgin. The frenzied 
mob. The factory hand rescued. Remorse. Rostépchin’s escape. His ter- 
ror. Consoling thoughts. Le bien publique. The escaped lunatics. The 
lunatic’s address to Rostépchin. Rostépchin and Kuttizof on the Yduza 
bridge. Kutuzof’s lie: ‘‘ We will not give up Moscow.” 


CHAPTER XXVI. P. 377. 


Entrance of the French. Murat. The Kreml closed. The barricade. 
The defence. Theskirmish. The flight of jackdaws. Thiers’s description. 
Soldiers in the Senate Place. Disintegration of the French army. Fable 
of the monkey. Comparison of the French army to a herd of famished 
cattle. Waterin sand. Generals in the carriage mart. Cause of the burn- 
ing of Moscow. 


CHAPTER XXVII. P. 383. 


Pierre’s abnormal state of mind. L’Russe Besuhof. His plan of assassi- 
nating Napoleon. Reasons for his zeal. Pierre’s rehearsal. Makdr Alek- 
séyevitch gets possession of his pistol. Gerdsim tries to disarm him. The 
scufile. Arrival of the French. 


CHAPTER XXVIII. P. 387. 


The gallant Capitaine Ramball. Makdr fires the pistol. Pierre saves the 
officer’s life. His gratitude. A Frenchman’s magnanimity. The refection. 


CHAPTER XXIX. P. 390. 


Monsieur Pierre. Ramball’s politeness. His appetite. Kvas. Ramball’s 
description of his battles. ‘‘ Where are the ladies of Moscow?” ‘Paris the 
capital of the world.” The emperor. Ramball’s enthusiasm. The Wiirt- 
temberg hussars. Pierre realizes his own weakness. The captain’s praise 
of the Germans. “ Refuge” in German. Ramball’s sympathy. Story of 
his life. His gallant adventures. Amour! Pierre unbosoms himself. The 
beginning of the conflagration. 


CHAPTER XXX. P. 401. 
The Rostofs on their journey. Distant views of the conflagration. 


CHAPTER XXXI. P. 403. 


Sénya tells Natasha of Prince Andréi’s presence. Night in the Rostéts’ 
room. Natasha eludes her mother, Visit to the wounded prince. His 
appearance. 


304. SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


CHAPTER XXXII. P. 407. 


The course of Prince Andréi’s illness. His illusions. The sphinx. 
Abnormal condition of his mind. ee a is love? Natasha appears. Be- 
comes his nurse. 


CHAPTER XXXITI. P. 413. 


(Sept. 15, 1812.) Pierre’s awakening and remorse. The fires. Pierre sets 
forth to find the Em peror. His abstraction. Scene near Prince Gruzinsky’ s 
(Prince of Georgia). The Anferdf family. Marya Nikoldyevna’s grief. 
Pierre accompanies Aniska in search of Katitchka. The burning house. 
The pillagers. The good-natured Frenchman. Rescue of Katitchka. 


CHAPTER XXXIV. P. 420. 


Disappearance of the chinévnik’s family. The Armenians. The beauti- 
ful Armianka. Therobbery. Pierre to the rescue. Pierre arrested by the 
Uhlans. Taken to the Zubovsky Val. 


VOL. IV.—PART I. 


CHAPTER I. Pace 1. 


_ Life in St. Petersburg in 1812. The Empress and the Empress dowager. 
A reception at Anna Pdvlovna’s. The metropolitan’s letter. Prince Vasili 
as areader. Hisart. Ellen’s illness. Gossip. Anna Pavlovna crushes the 
indiscreet young man. Bilibin’s witticism. Prince Ippolit’s attempt at wit. 
The letter. Anna Pavlovna’s presentiment. 


CHAPTER II. P. 5. 


The Te Deum. News of the battle of Borodin6. Sorrow over Kutdisof’s 
death. ‘The countess’s death. Count Rost6pchin’s complaint to the Tsar. 
The Emperor’s rescript. 


CHAPTER III. P. &, 


Official report of the abandonment of Moscow. Colonel Michaud’s inter- 
view with the Emperor. His jest. Alexander’s emotion. His vow. 


CHAPTER IV. P. 11. 


Historical perspective. Private interests. Profitless efforts. Useless 
members of society. Comparison between talkers and doers. Nikolai sent 
to Voronézh. His delight at the change. Interviews with officials. The 
commander of the landwehr. The landed proprietor. The horse trade. 
Reception at the governor’s. Provincial life in 1812. Nikolai’s popularity. 
His skill as a dancer. The pretty blonde. 


CHAPTER V. P. 16. ; 


Nikolai’s flirtation. NikitaTIvdnovitch. Anna Igndtyevna Malvintseva. 
The governor’s wife scolds Nikolai. Proposes that he should marry Princess 
Mariya. Nikoldai’s frankness. 


SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 395 


CHAPTER VI. P. 20. 


Princess Mariya at her aunt’s. The unstable equilibrium of her emotions. 
Interview with Nikolai. Her graceful manners. Thealabaster lamp. Nik- 
oldi’s perplexity. His ideal of the married state. The service at the cathe- 
dral. Nikolai comforts the princess. Impression made upon him. 


e e 


CHAPTER VII. P. 24. 


Nikoldi’s comparison between Sénya and Mariya. His prayer and the 
answer. Letters from home. 


of 





CHAPTER VIII: .P.,29. 


The explanation of Sonya’s letter. Her self-sacrifice. Talk with Natd- 
sha at Troitsa. Reminiscences of Twelfth Night. 


CHAPTER IX. P. 33. 


\__ Pierre in the guard-house. Tried as an incendiary. The judicial gutter. 
Transferred to the coach-house. 


CHAPTER X. P. 36. 


__ Pierre brought before the marshal. Glimpses of the burnt city. The 
wrecked Russian nest. French order. Davoust and Pierre. Saved by a 
look. Doubts. The chain of events. 


CHAPTER XI. P. 40. 


The execution in the Dievitchye Pole. The prisoners. ‘ Two at a time.” 
“No. 5.” Buried alive. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 44. 


Reprieved. The balagdn. Platon Karatdyef. The pink puppy. Kara- 
tayef’s proverbs. The story of his life. His prayer. 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 49. 
Karatdyef as the embodiment of the truly Russian. His general rotundity. 
His peculiarities. Life. 
CHAPTER XIV. -P. 582. 


_ Princess Mariya plans to go to her brother. Her outfit. Her firmness of 
yuarpose. Her feelings toward Nikolai. Arrival at Yaroslévl. Meeting 
vith the Rostof family. The old countess. Sonya. Change in the count. 
Natasha. Understandings. 

: 


CHAPTER XV. P. 58. 
__ Princess Mariya sees her brother. His lack of interest in all earthly 
-hings. Nikolishka. 

CHAPTER XVI. P. 62. 


Change in Prince Andréi. His realization of death. Love. Andréi and 
‘Natasha. Hisstrange dream. ‘‘/t.’’ The awakening from life into death. 
the farewell. Death. 


396 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


PART 
CHAPTER. I. Paar 69. 


Association of cause and effect. The will of historical heroes. The flank 
movement. Criticisms on the historians. The possibility of other results. 
The war council at Fili. The real reason for abandoning direct retreat. Ex 
post facto judgments. 


CHAPTER II. P. 72. 


The change of route. Kuttizof at Tarutino. His peculiar merit. Lauris- 
ton’s errand. The cry of the wounded Beast. ‘‘ The spirit of the people.” 
Changed relations of the armies. The chime of bells. 


CHAPTER III. P. 75. 


The directors of the Russian army. Changes in the staff. Intrigues. 
The Emperor’s letter to Kuttizof. The Cossack Shapovalof. The battle. 
Kuttizof’s inability to restrain the army. Consenting to a fait accompli. 


CHAPTER IV. P. 77. 


Kuttizof signs the order drawn up by Toll. Admirable plan. Feasibility. 
The messenger in search of Yermolof. The ball at General Kikin’s. Dan- 
cing the Triepaka. 

CHAPTER Vucek. 79: 


Kuttzof sets forth. The misunderstanding. His fury. Eichen and 
Captain Brozin. Repentance. 


CHAPTER VI. P. 81. 


The rendezvous. Count Orlof-Denisof. The Polish deserter. The pro- 
jected attack on Murat. “Too late.’”’ Called back. The charge. Pris- 
oners. Murat’s narrow escape. Cossack plunders. Failure of the plan. 
. Bagavut and Toll. Tarutino. 


CHAPTER VII. P. 85. 


Kutuzof’s nonchalance. Result of the battle of Tarutino. The essential 
condition of any battle. Impossibility of controlling forces. Paradoxical 


, 


value of the battle of Tarutino. . 


CHAPTER VIII. P. 87. 


Napoleon at Moscow. Brilliancy of his position. Stupidity of his actual 
course. His genius and activity. 


CHAPTER IX. P. 89. 


Napoleon’s actions. Captain Yakovlef sent to Petersburg. Matters mili- 


tary, diplomatic, judicial, administrative, etc. Proclamations. Thiers’s 
‘* eloquent narrative.’’ : 


CHAPTER. X.. .P..92: 


Failure of his projects. Reports of French officials. The wounded Beast. 
Napoleon’s power. 


SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 397 


CHAPTER XI. P. 96. 


| (Oct. 18, 1812.) Pierre in the balagén. The pink puppy. Pierre’s dress, 
The change in him. Indian Summer (Bdbye li¢to). Corporal St. Thomas. 
Karatayef and the French soldier. The new shirt. 


= . CHAPTER XII. P. 101. 


| Privations. The secret of life. The concept ‘‘happiness.”? Hopes for 
‘the future. Pierre’s standing among the prisoners. 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 104 


| Beginning to retreat. The sick soldier Sokélof. The corporal. The 
fateful force. Off. Burnt Moscow. The corpse. 


CHAPTER XIV. P. 107. 


Scenes in the retreating army. Treatment of the prisoners. Horse-flesh. 
Pierre’s sudden hilarity. His immortal soul. 


CHAPTER XV. P..112. 


Napoleon’s second letter. Defensive operations demanded. Dokhtiirof 
Sent against Broussier. Character of Dokhttrof. An unsung hero. The 
silent motor and the shaving. Bolkhovitinof sent to headquarters for orders. 


CHAPTER XVI. P. 115. 


__ Bolkhovitinof’s arrival at headquarters. Shcherbinin. Konovnitsuin’s 
character. At swords’ points. 


CHAPTER XVII. P. 117. 


Kutuzof. Timeand Patience. His views concerning the wounded Beast. 
The desire of his heart. Hearing the news. How affected. 


CHAPTER XVIII. P. 121. 


Kuttizof’s efforts to prevent active operations. Criticisms on Napoleon’s 
Pp p 


lstorians. L’Hourrah de ’Empereur. Napoleon’s timidity. Decides te 
‘retreat. 


, CHAPTER XIX. P. 129. 


The objective of a journey. Limited perspective. Power increased in 


4m aggregation. Kutuzof resists offensive operations. The fatal road to 
‘3molensk. 


! 





398 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


PART III. 


CHAPTER IL. Pace 126. 


Philosophy of conquest. Fallacy of the ordinary theory. The duellist 
out ofrule. Theclub. Irregular warfare. Honor to the Russians. 


CHAPTER II. P. 129. 


Partisan warfare. The unknown quantity. Spirit of the army. Tactics. 


CHAPTER III. P. 131. 
Organization of the partisan warfare. Davuidof. Different bands. De- 


nisof in the forest. Plan to join forces with Dolékhof. 200 vs. 1500. ‘‘Cap- 
turing a tongue.” 


CHAPTER IV. P. 135. 


-Denfsof’s band. The esaul Mikhail Feoklatuitch Lovdiski. The French 
drummer boy. Arrival of Pétya Rostdf. 


CHAPTER V. P. 189. 


Reconnaissance of Shdmshevo. Escape of Tikhon Shcherbétof. Tikhon’s 
character. 


CHAPTER VI. P. 142. 


Tikhon relates his experiences. 


CHAPTER VII. P. 145. 


Pétya’s career. Scene at the forest izba. Pétya’s gencrosity. “I like 
something sweet.’’ Vincent Bosse: Vesénnui. 


CHAPTER VIII. P. 148. | 


Dolékhof’s arrival. Pétya volunteers to enter the French lines. Dolé- 
khof’s treatment of prisoners. 





CHAPTER IX. P. 151. 
The visit tothe French camp. Doldkhof’s audacity. Pétya’s enthusiasm. 


CHAPTER X. P. 154. 


Pétya returns. Illusions. The orchestral concert. The sharpened sabre. 
Dawn in the woods. 


f SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 399 


CHAPTER XI. P. 159. 


- The start. The signal. The attack. Pétya killed. Denfsof’s sorrow. 
Pierre set free. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 162. 
| Pierre’s experiences. Karatdyef. Sufferings. The power of vitality. 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 165. 
Siérui. Karatdyef’s story of the merchant unjustly punished. 


CHAPTER XIV. P. 168. 
The marshal. Execution of Karatayef. The soldiers. 


é r CHAPTER XV. P. 170. 

 Pierre’s dream of life. ‘Fhe liquid sphere. Rude awakening. Dreams. 
Liberation. Burial of Pétya. 

t CHAPTER XVI. P. 172. 

| Beginning of cold weather. Melting away of the French army. Ber- 
‘thier’s letter to Napoleon. 

CHAPTER XVII. P. 174. 


Relations of the French and Russian armies. Blind-man’s-buff. Flight 
of the French. Escape of Napoleon. 


CHAPTER XVIII. P. 176. 


Criticism upon historians who consider the action of the masses subser- 
vient to the will of one man. The ugly truth. Greatness. 





CHAPTER XIX. P. 178. 


' Why the Russians failed to cut off the French. Reply to the historians. 
Object of the campaign. Senseless reasons. Comparison of cattle in a gar- 
den. Impossibility of cutting off an army. Difficulty of the march. 








PART IV. 


CHAPTER I. Pace 183. 


Horror of death. Natdsha and Princess Mariya. Effect of Prince 
‘Andréi’s death. The necessity of living. Natdsha’s retrospection. The 
solution of the mystery. Bad news. 


CHAPTER II. P. 187. 


Natdsha’s mental state. Effect of the bad news on the old count. On 
the countess. Re-action. ; 


400 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE” 


CHAPTER III. P. 189. 


Natdsha’s influence over her mother. Healing of Natdsha’s heart wound. 


Her friendship with Princess Mariya. The mutual love of women. Natd- 
sha’s health. 


CHAPTER IV. P. 192. 


The Russians pursue the French. Losses of the Russians. Direction of 
Kutuzof’s intuitions. His efforts. Skirmish at Krasnoye. Criticisms on 
Kutizof. 


CHAPTER V. P. 195. 


Eulogy of Kuttizof’s character. Reasons for the choice of him as leader 
of the popular war. 


~*~, 


CHAPTER VI. P. 199. 


(Nov. 17, 1812.) After the battle. Kuttizof’s speech. His emotion. 


Popular enthusiasm. 


CHAPTER VII. P. 202. 
A snowy nightincamp. The wattled hedge. 


CHAPTER VIT. 3k. 200s 


Camp scenes. The dance and song. Soldiers’ gossip. 


CHAPTER IX. P. 209. 


Captain Ramball. Kindly received. Morel Sings. Zaletdyef tries to” 


sing French. The stars. 


CHAPTER X. P. 211. 


The passage of the Beresina. Pfuhl’s scheme. The fatal impetus. 
Kutuzof blamed. ‘The golden bridge.” Kuttizof loses his temper. At 
Vilno. Received by Chitchagof. Kuttizof’s life at Vilno. Arrival of the 
Emperor. Effect on Kuttizof. Alexander offers blame. The decoration. 


CHAPTER XI) Pirgitz 


Kuttizof’s banquet. The Emperor’s covert politeness. The war not 


ended. Kuttizof a stumbling-block. Reconstituting the staff. “Tl health” 
anexcuse. The European significance of the movement. Death of Kutuzof. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 219, 


_ Pierre’s illness. Dim recollections. Awakening to new life. The joyous 


sense of freedom, His faith in an everywhere present God. The simple 


answer, 


Seca Me 


SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 401 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 222. 


Change in Pierre. His cousin the princess. His servant Terentii. The. 
‘doctor’s enthusiasm. The Italian ofticer’s devotion to him. Villarsky. 
Pierre’s gentleness of judgment. ‘‘ To give or not to give.” New standards. 
The French colonel refused. Pierre’s losses. His wife’s debts. His head 
overseer Savélyitch. Views of Russia. 
| 


CHAPTER XIV. P. 227. 


Comparison of Moscow to an ant-hill. The “something indestructible.” 
The population. Plundering. Comparison potvecn the pillage of the French 
and Russians. Restoration of order. 


| CHAPTER XV. P. 230. 


(February, 1815. ) Pierre in Moscow. Calls upon Princess Mariya. The 
“kompanyonka.’’ The rusty door. Natdsha. Pierre’s delight. Change in 
Natasha. - 


6 


CHAPTER XVI. P. 233. 


| Condolence. Story of Prince Andréi’s death. Natdsha’s narration. 


CHAPTER XVII. P. 236. 


A midnight supper. Re-action after asolemn talk. Marya Avramovna’s 
gossip. ‘‘An interesting personage.”’ Pierre’s reflection on his wife’s death. 
Pierre relates the story of his captivity. Effect of a genuine woman. Natd- 
sha’s intuitions. Princess Mariya’s forecast. _Pierre’s self-gratulation on his 

experiences. Natasha bursts into tears. Is Prince Andréi to be forgotten ? 
“*Pierre’s moral bath.”’ 


CHAPTER XVIII. P. 241. 

Pierre’s resolution. Postpones his journey to Petersburg. Offers Savél- 
yitch his freedom. Savélyitch advises him to marry. Pierre’s cousin fails to 
understand. Love changes the world. Burnt Moscow. Dreams. Natasha 
transformed. Embarrassment. Pierre confides in Princess Mariya. ‘I 
Shall await your return with impatience.” 

CHAPTER XIX. P: 27. 


Pierre’s joyous insanity. His judgments of men. 


| CHAPTER XX. P. 249. if 


The change in Natdsha. Princess Mariya’s amazement. 


VOL, 4. LY 26. 


i nl ne 


402 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


EPILOG.—PARTL 


CHAPTER I. Pager 251.. 


(1819.) The storm-tossed historical sea. Re-action and progress. Alex- 
ander I. Reproaches on_ his re-actionary tendencies. The welfare of 
humanity. The activity of Napoleon and Alexander. 


CHAPTER II. P. 254. 
Chance. Genius. The parable of the fattened sheep. Facts and objects. 


CHAPTER III. P. 256. 


The movements of the nations. Résumé of Napoleon’s life. The man 
needed. The readiness of the forces. The movement from west to east. 
The counter-movement. 


CHAPTER IV. P. 261. 


The new upheaval. The return of the man of destiny. The last act. 
Fate. Résumé of Alexander’s career. Dual relationship of man. The 
final object of bees. 


CHAPTER V. P. 263. 


Natdsha’s marriage. The Rostéf family. The count’s death. His debts. 
Nikoldi’s sense of honor. Inclemency of the debtors. Hard days. Sénya’s 
character. Nikolai misanthropic. 


CHAPTER VI. P. 267. 


Princess Mariya’s call at the Rostdfs’. Nikoldai’s reserve. The countess 
urges Nikolai to call on the princess. Nikoldi’s call. The princess’s ab- 
straction. A personal turn to the conversation. An explanation. 


CHAPTER VII. P. 271. 


Nikoldi’s marriage. His mode of conducting his estate. His confidence 
in the muzhik. His rule of conduct. His world apart. Countess Mariya’s 
jealous amazement. His theories. 


CHAPTER VIII. P. 275. 


Nikolai’s quick temper. Marfya’s grief. Nikoldi’s repentance. The 
broken cameo. His position in the province. His routine. His love for his 
wife. Sdnya. Natdsha’s judgment upon Sénya. ‘A sterile flower.” The 
establishment at Luisiya Gorui. 


CHAPTER IX. P. 279. 


St. Nicholas Day, 1820. Visitors at the Rostéfs’. Nikoldi’s ill-humor. 
A slight misunderstanding. Nikoldi’s broken nap. Nikoldi’s son and 
daughter. The misunderstanding righted. Loving one’s little finger. The 
baby’s logic. Nikoldi’s partiality. Retrospect. Countess Mariya’s happi- 


ness. 





— 


SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 408 


CHAPTER X. P. 284. 


Change in Natasha. The old fire. A model wife and mother. Accom- 
acne abandoned. Vital questions. The significance of marriage. 

omesticity. Pierre’s subjection. Natdsha’s logic. Seven years of mar- 
ried life. P 


CHAPTER XI. P. 289. 


__ Pierre goes to Petersburg. His long stay. Natdsha’s annoyance. The 
baby as a consolation. Pierre’s arrival. Natdsha’s delight. A revulsion. 
A passing storm. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 293. 


Effect of Pierre’s arrival on the various members of the household. Prince 
| Nikélenka Bolkonsky. Gifts. The old countess. Second childhood. 


CHAPTER XIII. P. 298. 


_The old countess’s moods. Anna Timofeyevna Byélova. Gossip. De- 
‘misof. The Bible Society. Dangerous ground. The children’s hour. The 
_mysterious stocking. 


CHAPTER XIV. P. 301. 


Nikélenka asks to stay with his elders. Dentsof’s criticisms on the 
government. Rottenness in public affairs. The discussion. The secret 
society. Nikdlenka’s excitement. Nikoldi’s threat. Natdsha’s calming 
imfluence. The broken quills. 


CHAPTER XV. P. 306. 


Extracts from Countess Mariya’s journal. Nikoldi’s approval. Plans for 
Nikoélenka. Domestic confidences. 


Cla tsi OV ESP. ott, 


__ Natasha and Pierre. Other domestic confidences. Would Karatdyef 
approve? A hint of jealousy Young Bolkonsky’s dream. His vow. 


PART \ IT. 


CHAPTER I. Pace 317. 


The object of history. The two schools of History. The chosen Man. 

The Will of the Divinity. The old theories still obtain. The movement 
-of the nations. Legitimate questions. The New History’s statement of 
facts. A caricature disclaimed. ‘‘ What force moves the Nations?” A 
new force. 


CHAPTER II. P. 322. 


, Contradictory views. Thiers and Lanfrey. General historians. Power 
and its factors. Personal power. Historians of culture. Intellectual activ- 
ity. The Contrat Social. Faulty reasoning. 


: 


404 SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 


CHAPTER III. P. 326. 


The parable of the locomotive. The idea of Power. Metaphor of money 


CHAPTER IV. P. 328. 


Two alternatives. Power given by God. Moral superiority. The Science 
of Law. Accumulated wills. Napoleon as arepresentative. Fallacies. The 
three answers. Criticism upon them. Parable of the botanist. The life of 
nations not expressed in historical characters. Abstractions. The Crusades. 
Distinction between personal biographies and real history. 


CHAPTER V.. P. 335. 


The parable of the herd. Reasoning in a circle: ‘‘ Power is Power.” Is 
Power only a word? Men and commands. Miracles. Power not the cause 
of events. Continuity in time.’ Connection between commander and com- 
manded. 


CHAPTER VI. P. 338. 


What is a command? Mistaken conception. The expedition against 
England. Infeasible commands. Metaphor of the stencil plate. Associa- 
tion and co-operation. Commanders and workers. Illustration: the army. 
oe cone. Lhe universality of this mutual relationship. The concept 
** Power. 


CHAPTER VII. P. 342. 


Further illustrations of Power. Men who do the planning and justifying. 
Parable of the ship and the ripple. Events not dependent upon commands. 


The real answer to the question: ‘‘ What is Power?” To the question: | 


‘“‘ What force moves the nations?’’ The phenomena. 


CHAPTER VIII. P. 345. s 


History concerned not alone with external phenomena. Free Will and 
Fate (Necessity). No example in History of free will. Apparent contra- 
diction. Consciousness. Will must be free. Will must be limited. Sub- 
jection to laws. The will and gravitation. Greater or less degrees of 
freedom. Theology, Law, Ethics, and History. Scorn for the “ diffusion 
of literature.” The physicists. Laws of Necessity always recognized. Ab- 
surdities of Evolution. Fable of the masons. 


CHAPTER IX. P. 350. 


Advantage of History as an empirical science. The reconciliation of the 
contradictions. Union of Free Will and Fate. Mutual variation. The 
standpoint. The three fundamental principles: Space, Time, and Caus- 
ality. Extenuating circumstances. Responsibility. 


SYNOPSIS OF “WAR AND PEACE.” 405 


CHAPTER X. P. 355. 


Greatest possible Freedom and Necessity. Absolute Freedom or Neces- 
sity unthinkable. Proof. Impossibility of being outside of Space, time, and 
causality. Reason and consciousness. Substance and form. Comparison 
between Gravity and the force of Free Will. The Force of Free Will the 
substance. Vital force. 


CHAPTER XI. P. 361. 


How far History is a science. The grasping and definition of laws the 
object of History. The application of the theory of differentiation. 


CHAPTER XII. P. 369, 
Subversive discoveries. The struggle between the old view and the new. 


The position of Theology. The new theory not destructive. Astronomy and 
History Fallacious dictates of cousciousness. What is needed. 


PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS IN 


Bezukhdoi;: 
Bolkonsky: 


Bolkénskaya: 


Kuragin: 


Kuragina: 


Rostét: 


Rostéva: 


» 


Berg: 


Drubétskoi: 


Drubétskaya: 


Karagina: 


Maméntova: 


Denisof: 


- Dolékhof: 
Dolékhovya: 


Akhrasimova: 


Shinshin: 
Tim6ékhin: 


VV AL 
AND PEACE.” 


Count Kirill Vladimirovitch. 

Count Pidtr (Pierre) Kirtllovitch (Kirfluitch). 

Prince Nikolai Andréyevitch. 

Prince enanet (André, Andréyusha) Nikoldyevitch (Niko. 
laitch). 

Prince Nikolai (Nikoltisha, Nik6élenka). 

Princess Yelizaviéta (Liza, Lise) Kdrlovna (née Meinen). 

Princess Mariya (Marie, Masha, Mdshenka) Nikoladyeyna, 
afterwards Countess Rostéva, 


Prince Vasili (Basil) Sergéyevitch (Sergéyitch). 

Prince Ippolit Vastlyevitch. ; 

Prince Anatol Vastlyevitch. 

Princess Yeléna (Elena, Ellen, Lyélina, Lyélya) Vasilyevna, 
afterwards Countess Beztikhaya. 


Count Nikoldi (Nikdlenka, Nikélushka, Kélya, Koko) flyitch. 

Count Pidtr (Pétya, Petriishka, Pétenka) [lyitch. 

Countess Natalya, née Shinshina. 

Countess Viéra (Viérushka, Viérotchka) llyinitchna, after- 
wards Mrs. Berg. § 

Countess Natalya (Nathalie, Natdsha) Ilyinitchna, Breeewardag 
Countess Bezuikhaya. 

Séfya (Sophie, Sonya, Sdnyushka) Aleksdndroyna, the niece 
of the Rostofs. j 

Dmitri (Mitenka) Vasilyevitch, the adopted son and manager — 

Alphonse Karluitch. ; 


Count [lya Andréyevitch (Andréyitch). | 
: 
; 







Prince Boris (Borenka). 

Princess Anna Mikhailovna. 

Marya Lvévna and her daughter 

Julie, afterwards Princess Drubétskaya. 


eae 


4 


Princess Yekatyerina (Ekaterina, Catherine, Katish, Katichej 
Semyonovna. 

Princess Séfya Semyonovna. 

Princess Olga Semyénovyna. 

Vasili (Vaska) Feddorovitch. 


mat 


. 


Pierre’s cousins. 


Fedédor (Fédya) Ivdnovitch, son-of 
Marya Ivanoyna. 


Marya Duitrievna. 
Piotr Nikolayevitch. 
Prokhér Ignatyevitch. 


406 


PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS IN “WAR AND PEACE.” 40% 


Bazdéyef: Osip (Idsiph) Alekséyevitch (vol. ii. p. 68). 

Schubert: General Kar] Bogdanovitch (Bogdanuitch). 

Perénskaya : Marya Ignatyevna (vol. ii. p. 198). 

Karatayef: Platon (Platésha, Platoche), vol. iv. p. 45. 

Smolyaninof: Lieutenant Telyanin. 

Mélyukova: Pelagdya Danilovna (vol. ii. p. 295). 

Scherer: Anna Pavlovna (Annette). : 

Bourienne (Burienka): Mlle. Amélie. 

Mikhail Nikanorovitch (“ The Little Uncle’’). 

' Semyén Chekmar, Dantlo (Dantla) Teréntyitch, Eduard Karluitch Dimmler, 
Zakhar, Luiza Ivanovna Schoss, Tikhon, Maksimka, Marya Bogdanovna 
the midwife, Féoktist the cook, Praskévya Savishna the old nyanya, 
Ivanushka the old pilgrim, Fedésyushka, Father Amfilokhi, Mavrushka 
the maid, Gerdsim the servant, Ilyushka the gypsy, Yakof Alpatuitch, 
Lavrushka, etc. 


The Emperor Alexander Pavlovitch (Romanof). 

The Emperor Napoleon Bonaparte. 

Mikhail Iliaronovitch Kutuzof. 

Pavel Ivanovitch Kutuzof (vol. iii. p. 178). 

Feddor Vasilyevitch Rostépchin (Rus-tép-tchin), vol. ii. p. 318. 

Prince Adam Czartoruisky (C‘har-to-ris-ky). 

Count Ostermann-Tolst01. 

General Prschebiszewsky (Presh-év-sky). 

Mikhail Mikhd@ilovitch Sperdnsky (vol. ii. p. 318). 

Alekséi Andréyevitch Arakchéyef (vol. ii. p. 163). 

General Miloradovitch. 

Yuri Vladimfrovitch Dolgortikof or Dolgoruki. 

Count Viazemsky. 

Prince Aleksandr Naruishkin. 

Feddor Petrovitch Uvarof. f 

General Benigsen (or Benningsen). 

- Countess Potocka (Pototska).. 

Count Maikof. 

Prince Soltuikdéf (Saltykoff). 

Generals Winzengeréde, Barclay de Tolly (vol. iii. p. 38), Yermélof, Count 
Orlof-Denisof (vol. iv. p. 82), Ponidtowsky (vol. iii. p. 202), Novosfltsof, 
Weirother, Baldshof, Murat (vol. iii. p. 16, 378), Davoust (vol. iii. p. 18; 
iv. 137), Pfuhl (Pfiihl) (vol. iii. p. 40), Rumyantsof, Stoluipin, Grand Duke 
Konstantin Pdavlovitch (vol. iii. p. 39), Potemkin (Pat-yom-kin), Suvarof 
(Suvarof, Suwarrow), etc. 


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